


Unexpected

by ChemicalOrgasm



Series: The Unexpected Series [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Children, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Cold Weather, Complete, Domestic Fluff, Drama, Emotional Support, Fanart, Feels, Halloween, Holidays, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Illogical Humans, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Interspecies Relationship(s), Kid!Fic, Kissing, M/M, Male Slash, New Years, Nightmares, Parenthood, Plot, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:19:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 131,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5200475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChemicalOrgasm/pseuds/ChemicalOrgasm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything on the Enterprise is running as it should with Scotty at the engines and Uhura on communications, Sulu manning the helm and Chekov on navigation. But after a sudden resignation from their Captain, Spock is suddenly promoted in his place and questions are raised. Why would Jim leave Starfleet and return to Iowa? One Vulcan is very determined to find out. A Holiday fanfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Departures and Promotions

**Author's Note:**

> As this is my first published Star Trek Fanfiction, I'm sort of testing the waters for it's reception. I have no set schedule for when posts are put up for this story, but I mean to finish it over the holidays while the inspiration still strikes me fresh. I'd love to hear your thoughts about it as you read, so please comment! This first chapter is sort of just getting the beginning bits out of the way, so bare with me. =]
> 
> On an official note, this story is now fully beta read by NWKate!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a side note, I do not own any of the characters pertaining to this story, or any other references I may make to other works or publications.  
> I am also still looking for someone to turn my holiday fanfic into a podfic, it would thrill me immensely if someone was interested in tackling the project!

He could recall that meeting around the conference table like it had just occurred; with Sulu and Uhura, Chekov and Scotty, Dr. McCoy and the Captain all seated around the long table. There had come a lull in the reports when Uhura finished reporting the last of her transmissions back to headquarters and all senior staff were anticipating a dismissal from Jim, who sat in a sprawl at the head of the table, his arms folded across his chest as he seemed to deliberate something very intensely. Spock had turned his PADD off, casting a short glance across the table at Dr. McCoy, the two of them sharing a question.

It was finally the doctor who broke the silence, "Jim, you got more to say or are we done wastin' our time?" They all noticed the odd shake of their Captain's head, as if he was throwing off some sort of reverie and just now returning to the present.

"Oh uh," Jim straightened up, fidgeting a little as he gazed around the table, looking at every officer seated around him. They were his friends, his colleagues, Starfleet's best and brightest. They were all eyeing him with concern by this point, each catching the scent of a difficult topic their Captain was having trouble broaching. "Sorry, not yet, there's one more thing I should mention before we disperse for the night." Jim seemed to steal himself, the lines of his face hardening with determination as he got up out of his chair and braced his hands on the edges of the conference table. He leaned there a moment, long enough to make Spock lightly clear his throat, quietly prompting Jim to continue before he lost his tired officers' patience. "I know it might," he looked up but his gaze didn't settle on a single face, rather staring across the room at empty air, "surprise most of you, and it has come as a rather sudden development, but as circumstances would have it, I've decided to resign from my position in Starfleet."

There was a long silence during which no one moved, varying shades of shock broadcasting across almost every face. Dr. McCoy's eyes widened in shock and he stood suddenly in a fit of emotion, always the first to speak his mind, "What the hell are you talkin' about Jim? Are you out of your goddamn mind?"

Jim straightened up to face his friend and Chief Medical Officer, a wave of exhaustion transforming his face from its resolute expression to one of weariness. He had to have known he would get this reaction; "Bones-"

"Don't 'Bones' me, Jim. I haven't heard a thing about this, not even in passing." Dr. McCoy waved a hand towards Spock with a level of incredulity, "Not even the hobgoblin would have kept that from me, and we're your friends Jim. Whatever it is, we can talk it out. Is this coming from the brass up top, are they forcing your resignation Jim?"

"They couldn't possibly, ve are so short of qualified Keptins in the fleet." Chekov was looking nervously between the doctor and Jim, seated at the other end of the table.

"You can't be serious..." said Uhura, who considered herself the last person on her Captain's friends list, but still respected him as at least her equal since the Narada incident. "We haven't even finished the five year mission."

The Captain was beginning to realize his error in judgement in telling the group this way, his hands lifting in a placating manner as everyone began to speak at once. By the time Jim regained control of the room, Spock was the only one still seated, one hand braced under his jaw, long fingers splayed against his temple, with the other arm tucked under his elbow. Dr. McCoy was glaring daggers at him past Jim's shoulder, having been the most outspoken member of their party. "Did you know about this Spock?"

Taking a long, slow breath, Spock leaned forward to slide his arms over the table top, folding his hands idly and arching a brow up at Jim. "I was not taken into the Captain's confidence regarding this matter; however, I did notice his agitation prior to this meeting. Had I known his intention, perhaps I could have persuaded him otherwise, but if I am not mistaken, the Captain has already submitted his resignation, if informally."

Jim threw him a long-suffering look, wiping a hand down over the back of his neck, "Spock, I-"

"Already resigned?" Sulu's voice caused another clamor amongst the officers, each vying for Jim's confirmation, for their questions to be answered and their concerns to be heard. The noise was loud enough to make Spock rise, pushing in his chair and bracing his hands along the back. It was only Jim's shout over the chaos that brought silence again, a tense quiet that sank into the room like a stone.

"Enough!" Jim roared, his fingers curling into fists at his sides, stubbornness turning the line of his jaw into steel. "I do not have to disclose my reasons if they are private. What is done is done and I will make my formal public resignation when we reach Outpost Ten. I've already arranged transport back to Earth and the Enterprise will continue on her mission."

"What?" It was barely a breath and hardly a word at all, from the shocked lips of Dr. McCoy. "With who to Captain her?"

"With 'whom'..." Spock interjected softly before he could restrain himself, and the murderous look he got from McCoy was well deserved. This was not a good time to be 'winding' the good doctor up, as the man himself would put it so colorfully.

Jim rolled his eyes towards the bulkheads of the conference room, "Not helping Spock."

Spock wasn't trying to be helpful. For once he was genuinely confused and just as concerned as the rest of his shipmates. That concern grew exponentially when Jim turned his gaze on Spock.

"I haven't sent my recommendations to headquarters just yet, but I do have you, Mr. Spock, as my top choice as replacement. Should you accept, as I think you should, you all will barely notice I'm gone."

"Jim." Sounding plaintive now, Dr. McCoy was gripping the Captain's arm and forcing him to meet his eyes. "We all stayed on the Enterprise to serve under you, and you know they'll try to stick some old desk jockey in your position instead. They've been pulling all the Admiralty out into space, giving them all ships to run until a fresh batch of graduates can get their rookie fingers on the steerin' wheel."

"With enrollment down, who knows when that will be...," Sulu muttered from his side of the table.

"How could you abandon us now?" Dr. McCoy's country brown eyes blaze into the Captain's, hoping he's rattled some sense into the younger man, but Jim's expression is closed off; hard.

"They'll manage just fine, and if Mr. Spock won't Captain her, I've made a few other recommendations. She won't fly brass. As Starfleet's flagship, it's too risky putting a top man in her seat. If anything, you'll get another rookie like me." Jim shook the doctor off and picked up his PADD, folding it under his arm and sidestepping to leave. "You are dismissed."

"Jim..." Uhura turned and watched their Captain stride from the conference room, his pace clipped and his back ramrod straight. Her brown eyes turned to survey the rest of her friends, "Why do you think he's resigning?"

Everyone except Spock shook their heads in puzzlement, varying levels of disbelief and anger evident in each of their faces. "Family business maybe?" Chekov supplied with a grimace.

"What family, Winona Kirk has been grounded for five years and we all know his father isn't around." Uhura folded her arms over her chest, very obviously frustrated. Suddenly, they all looked at Spock, "Are you going to accept?" She asked him softly, searching his unreadable face for any clues to what the inscrutable Vulcan might be thinking.

Picking up his PADD from the table, Spock lifted his head and rounded the end of the table, passing the Captain's now empty chair. "I am not certain of my choice yet. I will speak with the Captain and perhaps this issue will be resolved."

 

He had walked from the conference room that evening, in the middle of the Gamma shift, to his Captain's quarters to do just that. Spock naturally didn't wish to pry into Jim's personal affairs, especially since when he asked, they provoked odd and unsynchronized changes in Jim's expressions. The expressions ranged from annoyance and anger to sad acceptance. Spock could freely admit that it disturbed him, but not enough to probe deeper still. In the end, he left no wiser about Jim's causes for distress than when he had come.

Even the good doctor had tried to wear their Captain down, no doubt over a glass of some of his prized contraband, but every attempt was rebuffed and Jim remained a tightly closed book about the topic. By the time they had reached Outpost Ten, the whole ship knew of the Captain’s resignation. The Captain ran the Enterprise through her docking process one last time. His meager possessions were stuffed into Starfleet duffel bags and his golden tunic was thrown over one of his shoulders on his way to the transporter room. Crew members in the halls had stopped to stare, some offering words of luck or sorrow at his leaving, but most remained silent as their Captain, flanked on each side by his First Officer and CMO, boarded the transporter pad for transfer.

The last memory Spock had of his Captain was of standing behind him on a hastily erected stage in the wide meeting room on Outpost Ten. Kirk delivered his short speech publicly, a few passersby stopping to listen as his words were taken down into a message cube and date stamped. It was sealed into a parcel to be shipped alongside him back to Earth, along with his formal written recommendations for the Enterprise's new captain following his profile's data dumps into the Starfleet databases. By next week, Jim would only be a closed record in Starfleet's memory banks. For the first time after that meeting in the conference room, Jim had turned to Spock and McCoy with true regret shining in his eyes, his voice thick with unspoken emotion as he bid them both a farewell, leaving Spock in charge until further notice as her acting Captain. Both the Vulcan and the old country doctor had watched as their Captain, now gone civilian, carried his things towards a turbolift with defeated shoulders. The Outpost would house him for two more solar days before a rendezvous with another ship would take him back to Earth.

"There he goes..." McCoy had muttered, still sounding as if he was trapped in a state of disbelief.

"Indeed, Doctor." Spock had murmured; a little surprised to hear a sliver of disbelief in his own tone as he spoke. 

They had returned to the Enterprise and in the weeks after leaving Outpost Ten, Jim remained the most talked about subject of conversation amongst the Enterprise's crew. Speculations regarding his departure ranged from him changing his mind about Starfleet, to having a secret lover he just couldn't live without. Each guess was more outrageous than the next. Only when headquarters’ decision to make Spock the Enterprise's captain came through did the Vulcan feel the abruptness of this transition truly settle in upon him. Whatever had caused Jim to drop his position so suddenly had to have been serious and it was only a year later that Spock found himself talking about the subject with Dr. McCoy:

"Not a single message you know? No transmissions from Earth from that bastard." McCoy griped. "Not even in my personal mail. It was like we were never friends." He scoffed, but the undertone of hurt was easily heard.

"Perhaps circumstances have kept him from being able to contact you Doctor. We were not given knowledge of his future plans." Spock sat in the center seat on the bridge, Dr. McCoy hovering behind him as he was wont to do now.

"Doesn't that bother you even a little Spock?" McCoy needled, his eyes narrowed at the view screen as they approached an M class planet in the D Sector asteroid belt. "That he could just up and leave without saying a single thing to either of us? What if it was some kind of top secret mission headquarters gave him, Spock? He could be in danger."

Spock arched a long-suffering brow at his medical companion and let his head tip to the side in deliberation, "What concerns me Doctor is that you continue to let your mind dwell on these speculations without supporting evidence with logic ." He would never admit it to the man, but Spock had considered the same possibilities, and then some. He had considered deaths, including that of Jim's brother Samuel, but upon looking up the man's whereabouts, he had found him safe and sound on Deneva with his small family, alive and well. Of course, he hadn't attempted to contact them, for that would be prying. But it was increasingly clear that he was going to have to make a decision soon, McCoy wasn't the only one pressuring him to talk to Jim.

Three days and seventeen hours ago Spock had received a transmission from Admiral Pike. Apparently Jim had not given any details for his resignation to the Starfleet brass either, and questions were brewing just as thickly back on Earth as they were in the ‘fancy tin can’, as McCoy called the Enterprise. Admiral Pike had been probing Spock for any insights he might have or details about the last weeks he had spent in Jim's company that might provide answers but the Vulcan hadn't been able to give him any additional information. At the end of their call, the Admiral had asked him their ETA to Earth. They were due for a short refit on their way back for what Jim used to call a 'milk run'. The Enterprise would be in space-dock to repair some damages for an estimated three months and two days and Spock had already signed off on the rotations for the crew's shore leave.

It was clear to Spock in his conversation with Pike, that he would not be making it back to his small rented apartment in San Francisco. Spock would be making a social call; one Pike hadn't been able to make himself. Now with plans to go to Iowa, Spock had been considering what he might say to Jim upon seeing him for the first time in five-hundred eighty-six days, eleven hours and fourteen minutes. Pike clearly wanted him to try to convince Jim to return to Starfleet, regardless of whatever reason he might have had for leaving. All Spock had by way of starting that conversation was a time of arrival, an address, and too many questions. One of which was... Why me?


	2. Small Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We finally find out why Jim left Starfleet so suddenly over a year ago. It might not be what Spock expected after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all of you who have read the first chapter of my holiday fic and left me positive feed back. It's really nice to know people are enjoying my story and I'm having fun writing it for you guys! Let me know what you think of this next chapter. =]

Earth always seemed more vibrant than Vulcan had ever been to Spock, but it still shocked a small part of him every time he set foot on the planet. The colors alone were so numerous that cataloging them all would have taken far too long and Spock didn't have the luxury or time to spend on such an endeavor.

Three weeks, two days and seven hours after his conversation with Admiral Pike, the Enterprise has reached space dock orbiting around Earth, and the attending mechanics clamp onto her nacelles and stabilize her saucer as her thrusters are taken off line and the space dock takes over the role of propulsion. Spock leaves the bridge satisfied and somewhat anxious as he tries to prepare for the upcoming months. He has no doubts in his mind that if Jim's reasons for leaving Starfleet were logically sound and suitable, there will be no convincing the man.

Jim had always been stubborn and resolute in his decisions, in some cases it made him a good Starship captain, but in others it had hampered his ability to see other sides of a problem. But that was what the rest of the bridge crew had been for; supporting their captain and forcing him to see other solutions. They had all been a good fit for the Enterprise, but without their previous captain, Spock has noticed some of the fissures of strain opening up in their group of senior officers. It seems that Jim had acted as a sort of adhesive between the members of their senior staff, and without his presence to encourage team leadership and out-of-the-box thinking, Spock has been forced to take on a more active role than he was originally prepared for.

Prior to his ascension to the roll of Captain, Spock had been First Officer and Chief Science Officer, the two roles had been enough to keep him occupied on the ship and it had been a satisfactory fit to his interests and abilities. Now that he is Captain, the work load is just as heavy, but it revolves more around paper work, reports, and systems checks. Heavier decisions are placed on his shoulders than he has ever had to make, ones he had helped coach Jim in during the first year of their five year mission. Not only is being a Captain more responsibility, but it also left Spock with the difficult conundrum of selecting an officer qualified enough to take his place in the role of Chief Science Officer as well as the role of his First Officer.

So far, Lieutenant Commander Caulfield has been doing an adequate job of fulfilling the role of First Officer, but she had not been his first pick. Starfleet had selected her for the Enterprise, one of the many graduates rushed through the academy to make up for the major losses Starfleet had taken in the preceding years. She was what Jim would have called a 'Rookie', even if she had graduated at the top of her class. Her academic skills were fresh and well established, but her experience levels and crisis management needed some work.

Shaken from his consideration of the new members of his bridge crew by a sudden lurching of the transport he is taking from the Enterprise to Earth's surface, Spock sits up a little straighter in his seat and peers out the port window to his right. They had passed through Earth's atmosphere during his deliberations and now they are circling around to land on one of SFO's many shuttle pads. Their two pilots go through system deactivation while all passengers rise from their cramped seats to stretch and gather their personal belongings. Spock has one single bag over his shoulder as he disembarks, and is caught up in San Francisco's wind as he walks across the tarmac. He takes a public domain land transport to the main airport proper. There are a few crew-members from the Enterprise taking the same route, various crew approved for shore leave, who bid him a farewell as they all separate en route to their own destinations.

Spock checks the leader boards displayed at his gate and approaches the counter to purchase a one way pass to Des Moines, Iowa. He will take a connecting transport out to Riverside from there. Admiral Pike's passing words from their last conversation are echoing in his mind: 'There isn't much out there in Iowa and you'll most likely have to rent a ground car. Use your Starfleet pass-codes and we'll cover your expenses. There are some higher ups rather interested in the outcome of this little endeavor, and willing enough to foot you some credits.'

The technician manning the transporter controls for transport from California to Colorado looks somewhat bored as a few people shuffle onto the transport pad along with Spock. It seems this isn’t the time of year travelers journey to Colorado and as soon as the airport in Denver, Colorado materializes before his eyes, he can see why. Outside the wide windows of the airport he sees thick swirls of snow cascading down from a steel grey sky. It makes him shiver a little inside his Starfleet regulation uniform.

It takes him a little while to locate the transport from Denver to Des Moines, Iowa and when the transporter beam takes hold, a part of him feels it takes longer to arrive. When he checks his time piece stepping off the transporter pad in Iowa, over an hour has indeed passed. He had left San Francisco at 0700 hours and was now arriving in Iowa at 0930. One glance outside makes him pull his Starfleet jacket from inside his bag, shrugging it on in the small port's lobby before approaching the main desk. Inquiring about a ground vehicle he is not disappointed when he finds Starfleet has approved clearance for a ground car. He recalls the address in Riverside easily and programs it into the vehicle which has been brought to the passenger disembarking zone then pilots the vehicle through Des Moines.

It takes him one hour and forty-eight minutes to pass from Iowa's capital to the small city of Riverside, his gaze frequently sliding out the window to observe the change in weather with growing consternation. It isn’t snowing in Iowa at least, but there are very pregnant rain clouds brewing the further out of Des Moines he travels. By the time he passes into Riverside's town limits, the rain is beating his windshield with some force.

Jim had inherited his family's farmhouse when his mother had moved to San Francisco shortly after divorcing Jim's step-father Frank. He had had little reason to visit it however, and hadn't even visited the property since sharing the news with Spock and the Doctor. But according to information from Admiral Pike, Jim was living there now but hadn't accepted any communications or attempts at visits by the Admiral or any of the superiors of Starfleet. When the ground car bumps onto a gravel drive way off the main road cutting through the countryside, Spock can see how Jim's refusal had been possible.

The farmhouse is antiquated but not in disrepair, old electrical lines connect the house to the main lines off the road. There is also a locked gate half way up the drive and Spock powers down his vehicle with a sigh. It seems he will be walking since he doesn’t even have Jim's communicator coordinates and has no alternative way to get a hold of him. Shouldering his bag, Spock braces himself as he steps out of the car, and immediately ducks his head between his shoulders as the wind sweeps up around him, battering him with heavy rain. Mud sucks at his boots as he treks up to the gate and examines the lock. With another glance at the wire fence around the property, Spock can’t be sure if the fence is electrified or not so he grips the cheap lock in his hand and gives it one annoyed yank, breaking the mechanism inside and dropping the twisted piece of metal to the ground at his feet.

The gate groans mournfully as he pushes it open enough to slip through, glancing up at the golden glow of the farmhouse windows some forty odd yards up the drive. Long dead corn stalks bowed under the pressure of the weather to his right as he walks swiftly up the drive. Thankful for the cover, he ducks under the porch, dripping wet, with his black hair plastered to his skull and icy drops of rain sliding down his pale face, approaching the door with some growing curiosity and uncertainty. There isn’t a bell to ring so he raps his knuckles on the door, taking a step back and casting his gaze over the porch and front of the house. The paint is peeling a little in some places but it seems clean enough, some porch furniture stacked in the corner is covered haphazardly with a tarp.

After waiting for five and a half minutes, Spock considers knocking again, but just as he is raising his hand to do so, the door cracks open partially and Spock looks down in confusion to find one lone eye peeking out between the door and doorjamb at him. He stares back, frozen in place as he sees what can only be a child peering suspiciously at him. A small voice calls to him over the din of the rain, "Who're you?" Spock blinks, adjusting his bag over his shoulder and cocking his head. Obviously Jim doesn’t get many visitors, for surely someone would have known that he had a child living with him.

"I am Captain Spock of the USS Enterprise, is James T. Kirk present?" The words came to his lips before he can think to censor them, surely a child would need more simple language to understand his reason for visiting.

There was is a long pause before the door opens wider and a small boy between the ages of five or six solar years gazes up at him with an expression akin to shock and awe. "A Vulcan..." He breathes, "Are you from T.V.?"

Before Spock can puzzle that question into some semblance of understanding, heavy footsteps sound from within the house and a familiar voice rings out in annoyance and alarm, "David, what are you doing? I've told you not to answer the door without looking out the window first." Then James Kirk appears in the entryway of the home to sweep the boy up off the floor and into his arms, half turning himself to shield the child from the cold and whatever stranger he has welcomed. A wary face turns to regard Spock and freezes in disbelief when recognition registers. Jim stares at Spock; there is no other way to describe it except for the widening of his eyes and the flush to his face. "Spock..." He breathes, straightening up, only then losing the defensiveness of his posture. The child named David is balanced on his hip, small arms linked around Jim's neck. He turns his face away in shyness, tucking it in under Jim's chin with a weak smile.

"What are you doing here?" Jim blinks, and then seems to remember himself and gestures energetically, "C'mon, don't just stand out there, come in. You're soaked." He says with a frown, closing the door behind Spock as the Vulcan takes a few cautious steps into the farmhouse.

So this was why he had left Starfleet, to care for a child? But whose child was it? As far as Spock had always known, Jim had never attached himself to any one person long enough to develop a family. Had he met someone and married in the course of over a year since returning to Earth? So many questions swirl in his mind and by Jim's sheepish expression, the man can see them all play across Spock's face plainly before he can school his features again.

"Not exactly what you were expecting was it?" Jim sets the child down on the floor again but David clings with one fist twisted into the fabric of Jim's pant leg, still staring up at Spock with shy interest.

"No," Spock admits woodenly, looking down again at the child, "you left to start a family?" He knows better than to make assumptions without hard facts, so Jim's strained bark of laughter makes him reassess the situation. Not a family then, just the child.

"It's just David and I here," reaching down, almost absent of all thought, Jim places his hand on the blonde head of the child. Spock can to see some striking resemblances between the child and his ex-Captain. "Here, let me take that." Jim reaches out towards Spock's bag and the Vulcan relinquishes it, moving to peel his sodden jacket off, drops of rainwater seeping into the rug beneath his feet. Jim moves past him and into what could only be the living room, setting the bag down beside a sofa.

"Daddy, it's a Vulcan!" David says emphatically, "Is he from Alterian Space?" Spock runs a hand over his hair to slick some of the water out, wiping his hand down the front of his rumpled uniform. "What is he doing here in Iowa?"

Jim seems to gather himself, shaking his head and closing his eyes, "That's just a television show, David. Go into the kitchen and start the kettle, would you?" Seemingly pleased to be of help but also disappointed that Spock isn’t someone famous, the child trails off into the kitchen, leaving the two adults to stare oddly at one another.

"Pike told you didn't he?" Jim folds his arms across his chest, looking at a loss of how to proceed, his former First Officer standing in the middle of his living room having just discovered his secret. "He keeps calling and I keep avoiding him." Running a hand through his hair, Jim makes an exasperated sound in his throat before motioning Spock to the sofa. "Let me get you a towel." Disappearing into the kitchen, he returns a moment later with a blue and white checked hand towel, handing it to Spock before perching on the edge of the coffee table in front of Spock, knees bent with his arms resting across them like he used to when talking to Spock in his Captain's quarters on the ship.

Spock runs the towel over his head and the back of his neck before replying, "The Admiral did contact me three weeks ago, he has asked me to...check on you, I believe is the most adequate term."

James snorts and shakes his head, wiping a hand down over his mouth and chin as he considers his friend, "No doubt to badger me back into Starfleet."

"I would never 'badger', as you put it." Spock says with a slight frown, interrupted by a shrill voice announcing from the door of the kitchen:

"Water's ready dad!" David looks proud of that fact and Spock notices for a second time how the child addresses Jim.

"You're his father?" Spock questions before Jim can get up and David runs over to climb onto the sofa next to Spock, squirming against the far side of the sofa and looking at Spock with renewed interest.

"Yeah, that sort of happened..." Jim grimaces and stands, "It's a long story. One best not heard by young ears." He grips David by the wrists and hauls him up into a standing position on the couch cushions, picking him up with his weight leaning against his chest, the child's arms automatically winding around his shoulders, neck craning to keep one eye on Spock at all times. With some mild protestations from David, Jim places his son on the stairs and tells him to go to his room and close the door. It is only after they both hear a door close upstairs that James returns with a sigh to sit down in a chair across from Spock while a fire crackles in an old brick hearth behind him. "Go ahead then...deliver your speech."

"I find...I am at a loss for how to proceed." Spock admits in some confusion, tilting his head to the side to regard Jim more sharply. "You left Starfleet in order to raise your son." It is more a statement of fact than a question now.

"Yeah, see...that's the thing." Jim slumps in his seat a fraction, crossing one leg over the other and dropping his chin into one hand braced against the arm rest of his chair. "Carol Marcus is dead and the only reason I ever even found out I had a son was because it was written into her will that I should know in case anything happened to her." Jim looks away, a bitter note to his words. "She doesn't have any family left who would have taken David and there's no way I was going to put my son in my mother's hands. Besides he's... my son." A look of warm acceptance passes over Jim's face as he turns his gaze to meet Spock's once again. "And I'm trying my best to be his father. Bones would have a coronary if he knew though," Jim snorts with a small grin, "supposedly I can barely take care of myself, let alone a child."

"It would seem circumstances have proven the Doctor wrong." Spock takes a sliver of pleasure at that small normalcy.

"He would have gone to a foster home, Spock." Jim shakes his head, "I couldn't have lived with myself knowing I'd done that to him. So as it came down to it, it was either David or Starfleet." He sighs.

"Your decision was logical." He assures Jim, "Though why you felt it necessary to hide the fact is still unclear to me." Was James ashamed?

"I don't know I guess I just," Jim gets up to pace towards the large bay window in the living room, pushing his hands into his pockets and staring out at the storm, "figured that the less people who knew I had a son the better. I've made enough enemies in my lifetime that might have seen fit to try and hurt David to hurt me. He's a good kid, Spock, I'm all he's got now and if I'd stayed in Starfleet and taken him into space with me, he would have influenced my every decision. If I had died, he'd have had no one left. You want some tea?"

The question throws Spock enough to make him simply nod, watching Jim retreat again. Only this time he follows, emerging into an old country kitchen where Jim is picking up an electric tea kettle and pouring steaming water into two mugs. "What am I to tell the Admiral?" Will Jim ask him to lie for him? The notion isn’t unheard of or unexpected; Spock has lied for his Captain before.

"Oh I don't know," Jim huffs, dunking two tea bags into each mug and finding some honey in a cupboard, "tell them I'm mentally unsound or something. Just don't mention David, alright?" Jim hands Spock one steaming mug of amber liquid and Spock grasps it between two chilled hands, leaning his hip into the edge of a counter top to regard Jim carefully.

"I will not." He promises, the both of them looking up at the ceiling hearing pattering footsteps of a child at play upstairs.

"How long are you staying?" Jim asks as he brings his mug to his lips, pausing before a sip to clarify awkwardly, "here on Earth, I mean. I heard you got the Captaincy, as I recommended."

"The Enterprise is in space-dock for the next three months, undergoing repairs." Spock sets his mug down, his fingers sufficiently warmed.

"Where are you staying?" Jim frowns a bit, "In San Francisco?"

"I had intended to do so, but the Admiral has made it clear to me that I should...'make myself an inconvenience to you', as he so graciously put it." Spock arches a silent brow, "though I see no logic in doing so, now that I understand your situation."

"Well, if you have nowhere else to go, you could stick around here for a few days. I wouldn't mind hearing about everyone on the Enterprise. I haven't talked to anyone since I left." He sounds a little heart-sore over that fact as Spock watches him fold into himself again, his arms crossing defensively over his chest and his chin tipping down as he regards the floor.

"Your hospitality is appreciated, and I would not be opposed to learning of your life since you left." Spock says charitably, "as long as David would not mind my intrusion."

"Oh, David," Jim scrunches his face up in an expression of laughter and dismissal, "I'm sure he'd be over the moon. He asks me a lot about the time we all spent together in space. But first, why don't you get dried off. There's a bathroom upstairs, do you have something dry to wear?"

Spock straightens up, nodding. He doesn’t have to be a Vulcan to feel the awkwardness still present between them. Jim had not been expecting to see him; perhaps Spock was even the last person on his list of expected visitors. But upstairs, Spock can only think about one thing as he changes into a dry pair of slacks and a heavy knit sweater. Jim had left Starfleet, his biggest accomplishment as the youngest Captain in Starfleet and known by almost everyone over media feeds, for the sake of a son he had never met or considered until a little over a year ago. Spock glances in the mirror over the sink and notes the variety of bath toys behind him in the tub. The image doesn’t fit with the image he has of Jim in his mind. Something has changed within his former Captain; the man no longer seems so self-absorbed or confident. As he opens the door to the bathroom, he can hear Jim talking to David downstairs and he pauses in the stairwell to listen momentarily, wondering if he would be interrupting an important conversation.

"That's Mr. Spock?" David seems truly interested in knowing.

"Yeah, he was my First Officer when I was in Starfleet. He'll be staying with us a short while." Jim sounds tired, but not weary of the situation, simply weary in general.

"Will he take me trick-or-treating?" asks David.

"I don't know. I doubt he'll stay that long kiddo. He's got things to do, people to see," Jim says vaguely.

"Things and stuff?" David's voice is small when he asks.

"Yes, things and stuff," Jim murmurs, only then noticing Spock pausing in the doorway to the living room. "Spock, this is David Alexander Marcus. David, this is Mr. Spock." Jim formally introduces them and Spock steps further into the room with his hands tucked behind his back, observing as the child gets up off the sofa he was fidgeting on and comes over to stand before his father's friend.

David holds out his hand towards Spock and then blushes and takes it back, realizing his mistake. "I still can't do that thing with my hand Dad does."

"The Ta'al?" Spock questions and slips down to squat before David, holding up his hand in the traditional Vulcan greeting, his fingers split down the middle. David scrutinizes the gesture before trying to force his fingers into the same position using his other hand. Spock regards his efforts with some amusement, "Your father has troubles with the greeting as well. Do not be disappointed, about forty-six percent of humans cannot accomplish the gesture." He slides his hand down towards David, offering the Terran greeting instead, out of polite interest.

David glances at Jim with uncertainty plain in his eyes but takes Spock's hand all the same; giving it one hard shake he has no doubt learned from his father. "Nice to meet'chu Mr. Spock." He says with a grin, one tooth missing along the bottom front row of teeth.

"Indeed, a pleasure." Spock responds as he releases David's small hand, standing back up and only then noticing he is being regarded oddly by James. He arches a questioning brow, but only gets a shake of Jim's head in reply.

"Well, now that that's out of the way, why don't we make some lunch." Jim gets to his feet with a grunt, smirking as David's arms shoot up in the air with enthusiasm and he whirls around to shout: "Bacon sandwiches!" It seemed Jim's eating habits had rubbed off on the child.


	3. Truths and Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween is approaching and David is excited about his first Halloween in Iowa while Jim and Spock have a talk about the past and present.

**David Marcus-Kirk**

Fan-art by ChemicalOrgasm

Out of all the people Jim might have expected to appear on his front step to question him about resigning his Captaincy, Spock had to have been furthest down on the list. He had thought that perhaps Bones would have come knocking, with his overly emotional declarations of Jims' stupidity and what not. Spock hadn't done any of that, he had simply come like a silent messenger in the pouring rain.

Jim knew Starfleet was still clamoring for him to come back. They were severely shorthanded on qualified captains in the fleet and the media feeds reported every month on how low the enrollment rate was for Starfleet. Nero had struck Starfleet at a weak time, right between the transition of competent graduates and newly-of-age enlistees. People were scared to let their kids become a part of Starfleet anymore; it wasn't about the glory but the fear. The fear of the unknown, fear of other terrible enemies the Federation had made still out there waiting for their chance to attack. After over half the senior classes of Starfleet had been killed by Nero's rampage, first and second year cadets questioned their reasons for attending the academy and Starfleet lost fifty-seven percent of its underclassmen. Students were dropping out left and right to rethink their career opportunities.

This was a dark time for the Federation, Starfleet leaning on other Federation members for protection and resources. But after the destruction of the planet Vulcan, the Federation was weaker than ever and there were concerns about war. If the Klingons or Romulans decided to attack, they would be severely pressed to marshal enough of a counter defense.

Even so, Jim had stayed out of the fray with his son to consider, weighing his life here with David against a dangerous and uncertain life in space and finding the latter severely lacking. Gone were the days when he had been motivated by heroism. The only kind of hero he needed to be now was a hero for his son. Five years absent from David's life had rather damaged David's views of his father. Carol had only ever alluded to his father being in Starfleet, and therefore had let David think that his father had abandoned him. It had put a lot of unnecessary doubt in David's mind about his father's commitment to raising him.

Jim and David make lunch together in the kitchen, under the watchful eye of the Vulcan perched on a bar stool at the kitchen island. It is like Jim has presented him with an oddity he has never considered and he supposes Spock is confused, watching a formerly selfish man consider the needs of a child. He mentions, in passing, while putting mayonnaise on a slab of bread for David's sandwich, "You look good...Spock." The awkwardness in his tone sets his teeth on edge and he regrets the remark, and is left blinking at his former First Officer when all the Vulcan does is incline his head and thank him for noticing. "Being a Captain suits you I guess." He says with a half-smile. 

"Not as well as it suited you, Jim." And there is the awkwardness again with Spock giving him that long indecipherable stare again.

David chooses that time to pipe up from the sink where he has been grudgingly washing leaves of lettuce Jim insisted be a part of his ideal sandwich formula. "Was Dad a good captain?" He turns around on his small step-stool to peer around Jim at Spock; dripping water off his lettuce leaf onto the floor until Jim takes it from him with a look of annoyance to dry it off on a paper towel.

"The best," Spock says simply, watching David's face light up with that information. With Jim's back to him, he can’t see how his words have affected him. 

Staring down at the sandwich he is building on David’s plate, Jim says over his shoulder, "Maybe at one point in time, but that was only because the pool of fish was very small."

David looks at his father in confused skepticism, mouthing the word 'fish' under his breath without understanding the metaphor. Just then, he braces his hands on the counter's edge and springs up and down on his step stool, his voice pitched in a complaint, "Turkey?" he whines, "but I wanted bacon!" 

"You had bacon this morning for breakfast." Jim finishes making the sandwich and takes it to the small sturdy farmhouse dining table, which his grandfather had built. David crawls up onto the chair at the end and pouts, taking a grudging bite of his lunch. Jim pauses at the fridge to pour a glass of milk for David then returns, pushing his sleeves up past the elbows and bracing his hands on the counter top of the island beside Spock. "I don't exactly have a lot of vegetarian options; we'll have to order a pizza or something tonight for dinner." 

From in the dining room, a booming voice excitedly repeats: "PIZZZZAAA!" Spock glances back to witness David squirming back and forth in his chair with his sandwich in his hands saying over and over again, "Pizza, pizza, pizza." He probably thought David was a strange child. 

"I do not require anything at the moment, I ate a meal between transport from Colorado to Iowa." 

"Oh, okay." Jim straightens up, "Well, do you mind if I eat?" He sticks his head in the fridge again, rummaging around until he finds leftovers he deems adequate, transferring a square of lasagna to a plate in order to heat it in the old microwave over the stove. 

"No." Spock folds his arms onto the counter, leaning on them. "How old is David?" He asks curiously.

"Five," Jim supplies, getting out a fork from a drawer and getting a glass of water from the fridge.

"Five and a half!" David pipes up from the other room, eavesdropping on their conversation, "My birthday is March eighth." Jim can hear the indignant pride in that statement. 

"Five and a half," Jim corrects himself with a smirk, "he's short like I was at that age." 

"Dad!" David comes trotting into the kitchen, half his sandwich in tow, lettuce hanging out precariously as he pays it no mind and climbs up with some difficulty onto the bar-stool beside Spock, leaning an elbow on the counter and finishing his bite of lunch before he continues, "You said we were going to carve the pumpkin today, can we?" He asks excitedly. 

"Carve it into what?" Spock asks, eyeing the sloppy sandwich in David's hand that looks like it might be about to hit the floor. 

"Sit down on your bottom David, and eat the sandwich or put it down. It's not a handbag..." Jim mutters. 

"What's a handbag?" David frowns, distracted from the current topic. 

"A lady's personal baggage that she keeps things of importance in." Spock defines, watching David's face twist with offended disgust. 

"I'm not a lady!" he scoffs, "I'm a man!" He roars, taking a big old bite of sandwich and chewing it loudly, laughing at the look he gets from Jim. 

"A little man who still needs to chew with his mouth shut." Jim passes around Spock to push a hand down on David's shoulder, forcing his son's bottom to connect with his legs as he kneels on the bar-stool cushion. "And yes, we'll carve your pumpkin. What did you say you wanted on it again?" 

"I want it to look like it's throwing up!" David laughs, "We can put all the insides on the porch like Thomas at school did with his."

"The raccoons will only eat it, David. Think of something else," Jim sighs, because it's likely he’ll have to clean it up once David had gone to bed. No need to feed the wildlife. 

David thinks for a long moment, squirming back and forth on his seat and chewing the last bite of his sandwich before he comes up with something else, "Okay, what if we made it look like Spiderman?" He grins. 

"What, you mean like the mask?" Jim wets a paper towel in the sink and hands it to David so his son can clean off hands soiled by mayonnaise. 

"Yeah!" David turns to Spock, "Spiderman's my favorite superhero." 

"This week, anyway." Jim clarifies, bemused. "I'll go pick the pumpkin out of the garden if you go wash up upstairs, alright?" Shooing David from the room, Jim props a hand on his hip and casts Spock a grimacing look. "Sorry, I did promise him and he has school tomorrow so we can't do it then.

"That is quite alright." Spock understands the meaning of a promise to a child, especially one so seemingly outspoken as David. 

Jim brings in the pumpkin from the garden outside, having grown it together with David since August so it would be really big by October. They cut it open and Spock watches with varying degrees of interest and repulsion as David finds it entertaining to shove his bare hands up to the elbow into the squishy innards of the pumpkin. Jim saves the seeds so he can cook them later and otherwise lets David play with the slick inside bits in a bowl while he takes a sharp carving knife from the drawer and cuts the triangular eyes out to look like Spiderman's mask. Eventually David begins to insist on helping, so Jim carefully wraps his hand around David's smaller one and helps him scrape lines out of the pumpkin's hide. In the end, they are left with a somewhat crooked and unprofessional rendition of the webbed Spiderman mask, but David seems satisfied with it. "We'll put it out on the porch tonight to scare away the ghouls." Jim promises as he washes David's hands and arms in the kitchen sink. 

Sending David upstairs to play, Jim and Spock are left alone, and he can tell the Vulcan has questions yet unvoiced, so he leads his friend out into the living room to restock the fire with wood from a basket by the hearth. It isn't long before Spock asks, "How did you come to find out about your son?" 

The long story would begin, it seems. "Well, I hadn't kept in touch with Carol after she and I split up, obviously if I had I would have found out about David eventually." Dusting his hands of on the legs of his jeans, Jim straightens up and turns to look at Spock, sitting solemnly in the middle of his couch and looking so out of place that Jim stares a little while longer. It is odd, to think Spock has come all this way, all the way to Iowa. But then again, he often does what the Admiralty, especially his former Captain Pike, tell him to do. Is Spock curious as well or just acting under orders?

"She didn't leave anything else to me, just my son, and her savings and such to David. It's all in a trust fund he can't touch until he's eighteen though. I got a transmission from what must have been her lawyer telling me she had left the care of our only son to me and what plans I had to take responsibility over the child. At the time, I didn't even know my own son's name." Jim folds his hands into fists and tucks them under his armpits, arms crossed over his chest and pacing idly before the fireplace. He always got his thoughts into order better if he was moving. Spock's dark eyes watch him move about while he listens quietly, one of his best talents. "But they told me there was no one else, none of Carol's family were left to take care of David and I knew that I didn't have anyone else who could take care of him. Besides, I kind of wanted to meet my own son, you know?" He casts Spock an exasperated and somewhat charged look. "I mean, four and a half years and not even a single message, not even a 'oh, by the way, you have a son'." Jim grimaces and sinks down into the armchair by the sofa, keeping his distance from Spock, not wanting to press the weight of his own emotions on Spock.

"You should have seen him Spock," Jim shook his head, "the kid thought I'd abandoned him, didn't know what was going on or where he was going. He was being taken care of by the state while I was away, living in a sort of half-way house for young boys in transition between foster families. It took me less than three days to make my decision, resign, and get my ass the hell out of there Spock. I couldn't let him think he was unwanted any longer than I had to. When I went to collect him, Spock..." Jim trailed off, his voice going quiet and breathy with sadness, "he pretended to be angry for a while, but eventually he broke down. He's a tough kid but no child should live through their only known parent dying and being placed in an unfamiliar home. I knew I'd made the right decision when he ran across that parking lot to me. He didn't know me from the next guy but I was all he had left at that point."

Clearing his throat, Jim swallowed back that memory and continued. "Carol died of some disease she had contracted in her studies, something had gone airborne in her lab and ended up killing her and two of her associates. Some thing they were working on. It was just an accident, one she couldn't have predicted, but in some ways more irresponsible than I had ever known her to be. They didn't even let David near her to say goodbye when she died. She was quarantined and Carol's lawyer collected David out of daycare and transferred him immediately into federal care. Had his life upended in the course of a single day." 

Spock watched him closely as he spoke and Jim felt a little self-conscious at the scrutiny, wondering what his Vulcan friend might be noticing in him now. Finally, Spock said, "You two seem to be close, despite your years of separation." 

"He still has trust issues with me sometimes," Jim confided, "but that's to be expected. When he has nightmares, he comes to me now rather than suffering them alone. He's just a child Spock, but he's had to grow up a lot because of this. I tried to keep things routine for him, kept him in San Francisco a while thinking we could hold off on any major changes but his stuff didn't fit right in my tiny apartment and I think being in California, just six blocks away from all the places his mother used to take him, was only making him hurt more. So I bit the bullet and uprooted him, brought him to Iowa. He started kindergarten this year and school seems to be helping him keep his mind off of her. But if he isn't doing something he falls into a sort of depression it's hard to draw him out of."

"Understandable." Spock murmured, thinking of his own mother, lost to the destruction of Vulcan. He could still feel her fingers slipping out of his and he closed that hand into a fist to keep the memory at bay. "She was the key figure in his life and span of development. It may take him a while to feel secure again." 

Jim cast Spock an odd look, as if he was trying to figure out what Spock was considering. "Since when did you become so knowledgeable about kids, Spock?" Jim blinked. 

"I claim no such proficiency, but perhaps I can find it easy to relate to him." Spock's expression was the same as ever, calm and detached, but his eyes were dark and Jim thinks about Amanda Greyson, Spock's mother, for he had been there when she had died. Spock had downplayed any emotional backlash he might have been feeling at the time, but as the events of the Narada incident had unfolded and Jim had pressed his luck with the Vulcan, the emotional response he had forced from his friend had been enough to make Jim see just how raw he was over the loss. Not just the loss of his mother, but of an entire planet he had called home once upon a time. As they had all grown closer together; he and Spock, Bones and Scotty, Uhura and Sulu and Chekov--the Enterprise had become a sort of foster home for them all, a family without blood ties. 

"Me too." Jim finally murmured, his gaze directed at the flames of the fire, thoughts of his mother's stories regarding George Kirk bubbling up in his mind. He had never known his dad, David hadn't known he had really existed until a year ago; it seemed the fate of the Kirks so far was that no son should know his father, but Jim was determined to break that trend. 

They badly needed a change in topic; the atmosphere of the room had grown too heavy. "How is she then," at Spock's questioning look, he clarified, "my old ship?" 

"As well as can be expected," he still didn't understand Jim's habit of referring to the ship as a female unit. "Lieutenant Scott is in charge of the refitting and repairs over the next three months."

"Who is your First Officer?" Jim had never known if Spock had chosen someone from within the Enterprise for the job. 

"Lieutenant Caulfield, a recent graduate from Starfleet." Spock supplies, "one you would call a 'rookie', I believe." 

Jim laughed, nodding, "Just try not to throw the Lieutenant out an airlock, alright?" 

"I have suppressed the impulse to do so on a few occasions." He admits, a dim spark in his dark eyes that reminds Jim of the good old days where the two of them would exchange knowing looks across the bridge, ones charged with humor the Vulcan normally would never express. 

"What are your plans for the three months you're dirt-side then?" Jim questioned, "Are you going to catch a transport to New Vulcan?" That was what they were all calling it anyway, the new M Class planet the Vulcan Elders had selected with the help of the Federation. They had been colonizing it for a while now and Jim had only seen holographic stills of the place, but it had a climate and atmosphere similar to their previous home planet, so it seemed to suffice. "Last I heard they were encouraging unbonded Vulcans to return to Vulcan in order to preserve the race and rebuild your culture." 

Spock arched a brow, "My contributions would be unnecessary, my Father has made inquiries but assures me I am doing more good by remaining in Starfleet than I would be if I were to return home." 

Jim felt a sudden irrational swell of annoyance, "What, you’re not good enough for the elders or something?" 

"That is not it, Jim," Spock said, catching his friend off guard by the use of his name, the first time he's heard it since serving with the Vulcan, "I simply would not be a good match towards preserving our race, as I am." 

"Because you're not fully Vulcan." Jim deadpanned, his eyes narrowed slightly, gazing at Spock in abject disbelief. "And you're okay with that?" 

"It was never my intention, in life, to settle into a bond and remain on Vulcan." Spock dismisses Jim's anger with a shake of his head, "I take no offense from their disinterest in me." 

"Well I do." Jim muttered, sinking down in his chair with a salty glare at the fireplace. 

Spock cast him a confused glance, "Why?" 

Jim shifted uncomfortably, "Never mind. I'm going to help David pick out his Halloween costume this weekend, you're welcome to stay here the three months the Enterprise is undergoing repairs if you wished to. But I won't stop you if you want to head back to California; winters in Iowa are very cold and very... white." He grinned, "It will be David's first experience with snow this winter." 

Spock considered his options. He could remain here with an old friend and his child, remain in pleasant company as long as he is welcome and appease Admiral Pike for at least trying his best to 'persuade' Jim to return to Starfleet. Or he could return to California and his small, lonely apartment to fill his days with reports from Lieutenant Scott regarding the Enterprise and little else. "As long as I am welcome, I would not be averse to spending shore leave here with you and David. The child is interesting company." 

Jim’s smile is a close approximation to the beaming smiles he used to make while the Enterprise's captain and Spock relaxed a little to see it again, having wondered if Jim was regretting any parts of his decision to leave space. "Great, I'll fix up the guest bedroom for you then." 

Pounding steps echo down the stairwell as David came bounding into the room, two action figures in his hands fighting it out with fists as he clashes them together and zooms by the couch towards Jim in the armchair. "Can I watch a movie?" He asks, leaning over the armrest of Jim's chair.

"Only if you keep the sound down," Jim grunted as he leaned forward, picking up the remote to their television and turning it on, effectively ending the conversation with Spock with the sounds of animated figures jumping around on screen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the support and kudos guys, I couldn't have written this so quickly without your motivations. I'm excited to see how this story unfolds, let me know what you think! =]


	4. Ghosts and Groceries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We finally find out what Jim has been doing for work since quitting Starfleet and David gets more excited about Halloween as Jim and Spock put together a costume for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys SO MUCH for all the positive feedback I've been getting, as always, it's vastly appreciated. This chapter is a bit longer than the others, I put a lot of time into it this time and I couldn't find a good place to end the chapter without making it seem choppy. Hope it's worth it! =]

Spock knew the moment he laid his head down on that guest bedroom pillow upstairs that he would not be getting very many hours of sleep, even with his accurate sense of time, his body was still used to ship's rotations. He was not incorrect in his theory, for 0300 rolled around and he was awake again, having only gleaned four and a half odd hours of sleep. It was adequate for him though, so he slipped into the easy routine of meditation, reflecting back on what he had come to know the day before about Jim. 

James Kirk had entered into a serious relationship with a woman by the name of Dr. Carol Marcus. Serious enough to have resulted in a child of whom Jim had known nothing. It wasn't a very difficult leap in deduction to assume then that Carol Marcus had only found out she was pregnant after Jim had separated from her. It was such a foreign concept to Spock that the woman would choose not to tell her previous entanglement of her condition. Had it been out of spite? Perhaps they had separated on less than ideal terms. But had she been so disinclined to tell Jim of his son and deprive a child of his father in order to prove a point, or had she thought she had been protecting David? If so, protecting him from what? So far, James seemed a perfectly adequate parent. But their relationship had occurred some time ago, at least five to six years ago and that would have put James at the loose age of twenty to twenty-one. Humans tended to have their young quite early, but how early was too early? Vulcan males were not expected to add to the familial tree until they were between the ages of forty and fifty-five. This comparison made Jim seem rather young to have a son already at the age of five years. 

Opening his eyes, Spock peered up at the guest bedroom ceiling, now bathed in a pale strain of light coming in through the window. Reaching up, he passed his hands over his face and back over his hair, sitting up and letting his arms fall to his sides. It was only just after 0500 hours but Spock heard some form of activity and movement downstairs. He slid from the bed, picking up his small bag and carrying it across the hall to the bathroom. Closing the door behind himself, he considered his options. It was no lie that Vulcans didn't necessarily enjoy full submersion in water, but Spock hadn't been completely averse to it; it was the only reason he had passed the swimming exam in Starfleet so many years ago. 

Eyeing the shower stall, he found a towel folded on a shelf over the toilet and opened it up to hang over the rack by the shower. He undressed and made quick work of the chore, spending only a few minutes under the spray washing up before he was out again and toweling off as quickly as he could. The house wasn't icy exactly, more like it was drafty and he went from the steamy hot air of the bathroom to the dry cold of the hallway. He was still dragging his towel over his wet hair as he crossed the hall, pausing at the top of the stairs to listen. It sounded as if someone was watching early morning television, and by the odd squeaks and honks of it, something aimed at entertaining a child. 

In his room, Spock pulled on a second sweater over the first, sliding his bag under the bed again and pausing to tug on woolen socks before he was making his way downstairs. He turned the corner in the living room and saw David sitting on the floor, too close to the television set, the volume turned way down. He was in a set of single pajamas, the kind that covered the feet as well and they had space ships and airplanes all over them. The hood was drawn up over his head and a blanket was in his lap. Spock got clear across the living room before David even noticed him, swinging his head around wide-eyed, and what was most likely an apology on his lips, until he noticed who had joined him. 

"Oh, mornin' Spock." He said with a purse-lipped smile, the kind that widened his features somewhat. "I didn't wake you?" 

"I was already awake." Spock assured him quietly, noticing that Jim was not in attendance, probably still upstairs, asleep. Did children usually rise this early? "Are you supposed to be up at this hour?" Was Jim even aware that his child got up this early? 

"Dad lets me watch cartoons when I can't sleep in, he just makes me take a longer nap on the weekends." David turned back to the TV, his face glowing blue from the screen's reflection. "Can you make me some cereal?" 

The request gave Spock pause, but David wasn't asking for anything unhealthy or otherwise not allowed was he? Cereal was an acceptable breakfast item. "Where does your father keep the cereal?" He didn't want to have to go looking through every cupboard to find it and seem intrusive.

Instead of telling Spock, David got up from his spot on the floor, dragging his blanket behind him. When he passed by Spock, the Vulcan noticed there were monkeys all over the blanket, a banana in each hand. His lips twitched a little in amusement as he followed behind David, opening the cupboard the boy pointed up at. "I can't reach it and Dad keeps it up there so I don't eat it all." 

"Do you like cereal then?" Spock asked as he found a bowl in a cupboard he had seen them in the night before, pouring frosted bits of corn flake into it and opening the fridge to retrieve milk. 

"I'd eat it for every meal if I could." David said as his hands slapped down on the counter top and he struggled his way up onto a bar-stool. He sat on his knees and leaned forward over the counter, his blanket drawn around his shoulders like a cape. Resting his chin in his hands, he swayed back and forth, seeming to have an aversion to remaining still and idle. "Especially Tony Tiger's Frosted Flakes." 

"You would eat cereal, not pizza?" Spock asked in a somewhat teasing tone, sliding the bowl of cereal towards David and finding a spoon for him. 

David paused in the middle of a bite of cereal, his brows lifting as an expression of recognition came over his face, "Oh yeah! Pizza too then." He said with an emphatic nod. 

Spock thought better of helping himself to the kitchen for his own meal; it was one thing to help David get his own breakfast, quite another to go about fixing one for himself. Besides, one glance at the box of Frosted Flakes told him there was far too much sugar in it to be completely nutritious. 

"How are you enjoying Iowa?" Spock finally asked, folding his arms across his chest and leaning up against the counter's edge near the stove, casting a sidelong glance at David hunched over his cereal bowl. 

"It's cool." David said, looking up with a dribble of milk on his chin. Spock turned and plucked a napkin from a holder on the counter, stepping forward to hand it to the child. After wiping his chin, David pushes his hood off his head and sits up, leaning one elbow on the counter and fidgeting with his legs, turning so his bottom finally connects with the seat. "It's a lot colder here though and Dad says I need a better winter jacket." 

"Did you like the weather better in San Francisco?" Spock asks before he can think to censor himself, wondering if bringing up California would dredge up memories David would rather not think about. 

David seems to think for a while, finishing his breakfast in three more big bites that take up all the room in his mouth, rendering him mute until he pushes the bowl away from himself and slowly slides down the bar-stool and onto the floor. "It's hot all the time there though," David mutters, taking his bowl to the sink and stretching up on his toes to pour the sugary milk into the sink. "Or it rains and it's so... yucky outside." Scrunching his nose up, he's obviously met the limit of his vocabulary here. 

"Do you mean to say that it is humid there?" Spock asks. 

"Yeah, that." David mumbles as he looks down at his feet, climbing atop a single level step stool so he can place his dishes inside the sink without having to drop them and make a terrible noise. 

"The weather forecasts a high chance of snow this year in Iowa. Do you like snow?" Spock can't think of anything more interesting to discuss with a child than the obvious circumstances of living and so he watches over David doing these simple tasks, keeping him talking and wondering if he might learn more about him just from these simple questions. It was clear to him that David spoke with a far better sense of sentence structure than most children his age and he knew how to express himself correctly without stumbling over his words too much. It made it much easier for Spock to hold a conversation with him. 

"I don't know," David said in reply, drying his hands on a towel hanging from the oven door handle next to Spock, "I've never seen snow. Well, except in the movies," He amended with his usual toothless grin. "Vulcans don't like snow, do they Mr. Spock?" He asked, "You can have my blanket if you want?" He offered, holding the monkey covered thing up by a corner towards Spock. 

"My own experiences with snow are somewhat limited as well, though I do not enjoy the cold." Spock blinked at the boy's offer, "That is alright; you may need it more than I." He declined gently, showing David the lip of his second sweater beneath the first, making the boy grin up at him with childish mirth.

"David?" A groggy voice reached them from around the corner and Spock looked up as James shuffled in dressed in a pair of baggy sweatpants, a long sleeved shirt, and mismatched socks. "Why are you up so early?" 

"I couldn't sleep." David says by way of explanation, "Spock got me cereal." Wrapping his blanket around his shoulders again, he extends his arms so he has a set of make-shift wings and runs from the kitchen back out into the living room, sliding on his knees along the hardwood floor before the television set. 

"Has he been up that long...?" Jim asks tiredly, "and thank you, you didn't have to feed him, he could have waited." He mutters as he performs the necessary motions of making coffee at the machine by the sink. While he waits for it to brew, he puts David's dishes into the sanitation machine. 

"I am uncertain of how long he has been awake; I rose ten minutes past 0500." Spock turns and opens the cupboard he had found the glasses and mugs to be in earlier, taking one down and passing it to Jim, the man left blinking at him. 

"Oh, right, five a.m. ...I'm used to just saying it the other way now, since David is learning how to use a clock." He pours himself a full cup of coffee before setting the pot back in its cradle, wrapping both his hands around the mug and drinking it scalding and black, as he always has since Spock has known him. "I've got to get him around for school this morning, you can help yourself to whatever you can find, I haven't gone grocery shopping since Thursday though so things might be getting a bit slim again," He said, shuffling out into the living room with Spock in tow. "Hey kid," David looked up at the address, then sighing he says, "go get in the shower and try to keep it short, I've got to take one too." He rubs a hand over the stubble growing over his cheeks and chin, a rasping sound following the movement. 

With David scrambling to his feet and going up the stairs, oddly enough on all fours like a quadruped; Jim picks up the remote and shuts the television off, slumping into the corner of the couch with his mug grasped tightly in one hand. He brings it to his lips and takes a few more thick swallows of the acrid liquid, "After I take him to school I was going to go into town. I've got to pick up his costume for Halloween and probably get a bag of candy. Mom used to complain how she would rarely get trick-or-treaters, but I'd rather have something than be empty handed if one decides to try getting up here to the house." Resting his mug against his leg, Jim watches as Spock slides down onto the other end of the couch, the two of them facing companionably. "You're welcome to come with me if you want, otherwise I'll leave you a key to get in and out of the house if you've got things to do." 

"I have no plans today that would take me from the house," Spock denies, "If it would not disturb you, I would like to accompany you into town." 

"Oh, sure, no problem." Jim says, waving a hand dismissively, "I've got to work tonight, so I get all my errands done while David's in school." Draining the last still steaming dregs of his coffee, Jim gets up again and heads back into the kitchen, "Do you want some toast or something? I've got jam from the neighbor lady, or I could make an omelet or something, I don't know." He trailed off; the clattering sounds of him pouring himself another cup of coffee his only accompaniment. 

A few minutes later, Spock has a plate with some toast and jam on it along with a sliced up apple, which Spock eats approvingly with Jim asking him the time and swearing softly under his breath as he goes upstairs to, presumably, remove his son from the shower, and complaining about the small size of the farm house water heater as he does so. 

David ends up before the TV again that morning while Jim gets cleaned up and dressed for the day, and Spock idly watches the odd animated figures in their uncomplicated stories playing out across the screen until Jim returns, telling David to turn the program off. At the door, Spock shoulders into his heavy jacket,which was now dry after spending a night hanging over a heating grate. David wears both a jacket and a little pack on his back, his book bag in the shape of a tortoise shell. 

They all file out onto the front porch and Spock is relieved to see that at least it isn't raining, as it had been the day before. Jim's vehicle of choice was a pickup truck with a cargo bed in back, a tarp strapped down over the back to keep the bed dry. In the cab, Jim moves David's booster seat to the middle of the bench seat, securing it before the child clambers up to sit in it. With Spock in the passenger seat, Jim climbs into the driver's side, turning over the old truck's engine with a loud roar that makes Spock flinch minutely. It's only once they have pulled out from under the canopied garage that Jim seems to notice Spock's rental car still parked on the other side of the gate. 

"Oh, I was wondering how you had come in." Jim says, parking the truck on the shoulder of the gravel drive, "Do you want to move it under the garage roof?" 

At the offer, Spock opens his door and Jim meets him at the gate, pausing when he sees he no longer needs to unlock it. He casts Spock a long look, at which Spock simply glances away, refusing to show any amusement over the matter. "It was raining and you would not have heard me over the noise of it. So I simply let myself in," He explains. 

"I can see that." Jim chuckles and shakes his head; "Christ..." 

Spock parks the rental vehicle up near the house and rejoins his two companions in the truck. The drive into town ends up taking twenty-five minutes and Spock notes the shorter route Jim takes, by way of back country roads, making some small effort to remember the road names for a later date. David's school is a small elementary school with grades only going up through the sixth year and Spock stays in the car as Jim gets out and lifts David out of the tall truck, handing him his backpack from the back end of the truck. Through the open door, Spock can pick up Jim's words to his son: "Now, wear your jacket at recess this time, okay? And turn in everything in your blue folder to Ms. Martin." Jim straightens up and both he and Spock watch David trail through the double doors of the building, turning half way there to wave back at them. 

"Alright..." Jim sighs as he gets back into the truck, slamming the door a little harder than necessary, sliding his seat belt across his chest and starting up the loud vehicle again. "Let’s go get ourselves a Spiderman costume then," He says with a grin flashed towards Spock before the two head into town. 

The store they walk into is a mish-mash of merchandise geared toward various Terran holiday seasons and other necessary items. It gives Spock an odd feeling of passing through micro worlds as he follows Jim down various aisles. There is an aisle just for toothpastes and soaps, another full of small bathroom appliances like hairdryers and feminine contraptions. They pick up several things on their way up and down these alleyways, a basket firmly grasped in one of Jim's hands as they select a bath soap (for David), a box of Q-tips, a cleaning agent, and an orange plastic bowl with pictures of skeletal bodies and blank-faced monsters dancing around the outside. 

Down one aisle there is everything to do with the theme of death and Jim sees Spock's arched brow and explains with one word: 'Halloween'. They pass the mouths of many other aisles, some looking Winter themed, others looking Fall themed and Spock lingers a step behind Jim to take it all in. He couldn't ever remember shopping like this; it was too disorganized. No wonder his mother used to make so many trips to the same store when she forgot something. It made sense if they were all set up like this. 

"Sorry I'm dragging you through all these stops, but the jacket David has now is too thin and I want him to have a better one when we go out trick-or-treating Thursday." Jim casts him a wincing smile as he looks over the quality and sizes of jackets hanging off racks in a section of the store very accurately labeled 'Children/Toddlers'.

Spock looks around, noticing a pair of pink bunny slippers hanging off a display not far from him. Why would a child wish to stick their feet into the image of an animal? The thought seems somewhat morbid to him. "He mentioned needing a jacket this morning." 

"He did?" Jim blinks, frowning a little and selects a blue and black thermal slicker from the rack he had been perusing. He shoves it into the basket in his hand, seeming to rethink his choice of a small shopping receptacle, if his expression is anything to go on. "I operate assuming he hasn't heard a thing I've said, usually. I didn't think he was listening when I mentioned it to him the other day." 

"Are we not here for a child's costume?" Spock asks with arched brows, trailing behind Jim once again, their path taking them past rows of bundled socks and underclothes. 

"Yeah, yeah," Jim grins crookedly, "But I always remember I need other things when I'm here." They embark down an aisle that looks as if a burst of violent weather has hit it very recently. All varieties of plastic and cheap material are strewn about or hanging haphazardly on the display hooks to either side of them. The floor is a practice in careful side-stepping as they both pick their way along what had obviously been the costume aisle. "Shit, I should have known things would be picked over by now, Halloween is this week." Jim runs an exasperated hand through his hair as he looks around, "and of course all the Spiderman costumes are gone," He says with an off-handed motion towards an empty hook on the display wall. 

Spock turns around in a full circle with his hands in the warmth of his pockets, "Would David object to pretending to be some other fictional or historical figure?" 

"Maybe," Jim grimaces, "but he couldn't make up his mind until two days ago, so that's why I've held off on getting him something. You know what?" Jim turns and grabs a fake, strap-on beard in a plastic bag from the wall. "He'll be a," squinting, Jim turns around, his eyes frantically searching the shelves. He comes up with a plastic helmet, made to look like it is made from metal, "a Viking." Jim says decisively, filling his basket with the beard, helmet, and a plastic sword that looks more akin to the time period of knights than of Vikings. "The beard will need to be trimmed or it will trip him up, but I think that will be his favorite part of the costume." Grinning, Jim walks swiftly from the destroyed aisle with Spock in tow, "Alright, let’s get the hell out of here." His smile is bright as the two of them head to the check-out lines. 

Back in the truck, Jim pauses before giving Spock one long, searching look. "We should go to the supermarket, huh? Not exactly a vegetarian friendly home I've got at the moment. I can make us stir-fry or something while we piece together David's costume." They arrive at a small grocer and buy various locally grown vegetables and alternative side dish options to Jim's usual preference for meats and leave just before noon. When they return to the farm house, Spock helps Jim cut up mushrooms, carrots, and pea pods, as well as other vegetables for a stir fry, as Jim puts rice on the stove to steam. 

"So," Jim perks up after they are half done with the task at hand, "Did you ever get to celebrate Terran holidays back on Vulcan while you were growing up?" 

Spock consults his memory briefly, but doesn't have to think hard in order to reply, his mind more focused on slicing through an onion. "When I was fairly young, before my father put a stop to the practice. He didn't believe the celebration of a fictional being or a religious figure was logical. Eventually, my mother agreed and we no longer held Christmas celebrations in my family home." 

"I can see why Thanksgiving wouldn't exactly be a common practice either, huh?" Jim makes a face, "they haven't exactly come up with a good alternative to turkey or ham yet; I refuse to let tofu even touch this stove or oven." 

"It seems illogical to set aside a single day out of a given year to recognize all the things one may be grateful for. Those things should be recognized the moment they are given rather than later at a predetermined date." Spock scoops the cut onions into a bowl and passes the bowl towards Jim, who dumps it into a pan to sauté with the other vegetables. 

"I hope you don't mind, I'm trying to keep this holiday season as close to something David was probably used to with his mom. I won't expect you to go along with it all, but don't be surprised if David asks you what you might want for Christmas. He likes giving people gifts." They talk all through lunch about Jim's past memories of childhood holidays and Spock listens until Jim's retelling becomes a little darker and more agitated as he recounted his teenage years under the roof of his step father; upon which Spock turns the conversation back to the other family Jim had left behind. 

"Has Bones finally gotten that stick out of his ass since I left? He has to have less stressful emergency visits since I've resigned. I had to have been the single patient he had seen the most that past year." He chuckles. 

"I know not of what 'stick' you speak, but no...If I am to be truly candid upon the topic, the Doctor’s temperament seems to have gotten worse in since you resigned." Spock takes a step back from his handiwork, which is currently the act of trimming the long beard that is going to be a part of David's Viking costume. At the moment it sits on Jim's face, making his words somewhat muffled as he speaks with his hands on his hips and his eyes shining with laughter as he watches his former First Officer take a pair of scissors to the synthetic beard. "Hold still, I would rather not draw blood on the matter." Spock angles the scissors to cut in an even manner, but at Jim's direction, changes to a choppier motion to make the beard seem somewhat more ragged and natural. 

"You're kidding? What could possibly make him angrier than someone who is allergic to almost everything under the sun?" Jim mutters, blowing bits of beard away from his mouth with the occasional huffing breath. 

"A Captain he wishes he could deem 'out of his goddamn Vulcan mind', it would seem." Spock says, "If you would pardon the colorful vernacular." He has to stop his trimming lest he snip Jim's chin as a sudden bark of laughter fills the room, and Spock cannot help an amused slant of his brow at Jim's glee. 

"He would have been more burned about it if I had recommended him for the position." Jim smirks. 

Spock slants slightly widened eyes, conveying his horror at the idea, up at Jim as he's hunched forward with the end of the beard gathered in his hand, "You would have done no such thing, unless you wished such an illogical form of personal hell upon all of us on the Enterprise." 

"Oh, don't be so over-dramatic," Jim mutters, smoothing his hand down the finished product of Spock's handiwork. "He would have been too terrified to do anything but run from all the danger; you all would have been the safest crew amongst the fleet. Do you think this is short enough for him, I can't tell?" Straightening up, Jim measures the length between his two hands and Spock gives it a long look before nodding. 

 

Later that afternoon, Spock stays behind at the farm house while Jim goes back into town to pick David up from school, and when the pair return, he has made himself a mug of tea and stocked the fireplace well enough to have a blaze going. A gust of chilled air brushes against the back of his neck and causes him to look up from his PADD to regard the front door as both father and son come tumbling in from the foggy outdoors. "Why don't you go show Spock what you made in class today, David?" Jim says, in a hurry as he goes upstairs to get changed for work. 

The child, flushed and cold-faced from his trek from the truck to the house, dashes towards the couch, already slinging his tortoise shell pack off his back. "Look, look!" He drops to his knees beside the couch and Spock leans forward to peer down at David as the insides of the backpack are upended onto the floor. Folders and papers scatter at his feet and Spock leans to the side in order to straighten them, one-handed, into some small semblance of order before he has a paper plate shoved towards his face. Leaning back, he gets a better look at it. It seems to be a white paper plate with black circles scribbled in crayon by an unsteady hand; the center depicting a set of vacant eyes and an open mouth. Two paper hands extend out from either side of it and a fluffy trail of white tulle fabric unfurls from the bottom. "It's a ghost!" David supplies, before Spock can guess, and he can't help but smirk at his childlike craftsmanship. "Do you like it?" 

"Very..." what was the appropriate word for something like a ghost? "Spooky, indeed," Spock says finally, causing David to beam like country sunshine before dashing to his feet and into the kitchen.

"Dad said I can hang it on our front door for the trick-or-treaters on Halloween, they'll be so scared!" David grins, returning with tape and running to the front entryway, yanking the door open and slapping a piece of tape to the top of the paper ghost, jumping up and down until he can slap it onto the door as high as he is able. He closes the door again, slower this time so as not to get the tulle caught in the door. He flashes a self-satisfied smile at Spock, taking off his jacket and leaving it on the bottom stair as his father comes back down to leave. 

"Since Spock is here, Mrs. Harper won't be around until close to bed time to tuck you in with a story, alright? Don't even try to wait up for me again, alright? You'll see me in the morning when I get you up for school. Love you kid." Jim stoops and plants a kiss on the top of David's head before he's shrugging into his jacket again, this time clad in a pair of black slacks and a simple white button-down shirt. "I made him dinner earlier and put it in the fridge, it just needs to be reheated in the microwave. Oh shoot," Jim pauses, his keys in hand, "Do you mind though, looking after him? He's a really easy kid; you'll hardly notice he's around. My neighbor lady will put him to bed; I just don't want him here alone. I didn't even ask you, I'm sorry." Jim blinks, casting a stern look at David, who is sitting on the stairs with his chin in his hands and a slight pout to his lips. 

Spock sets his PADD aside on the sofa, leaning down to pick up the somewhat straightened piles of folders and papers to set them on the coffee table this time, "It does not inconvenience me to look after David, Jim. It is the least I can do in return for your letting me remain here with little effort on my part." Spock stands, finding himself poised in the doorway to the foyer, leaning his shoulder up against the wall and casting a look down at David, who eyes him with varying degrees of interest and uncertainty. 

"Oh thank God," Jim seems to deflate like a child's balloon when Spock speaks, zipping up his jacket and switching his keys from hand to hand over and over again, "You don't even have to worry about a bath or anything, he'll take one in the morning. I'll hopefully be home around midnight or one o'clock. Thank you Spock, you're a big help." Opening the door, he sees the ghost taped there hanging half off and adjusts it higher with a half-smile back at David. "Goodnight boys." Ducking out onto the porch, Spock steps forward to lock it behind the harried man and slowly turns to regard his charge. 

After a while, he asks, "What is it Jim does, exactly, for work?" 

David screws up his mouth in thought before replying, "He's a bartender in town. He serves people juice boxes that taste bad. At least, that's what Dad says." 

Spock lifts his head in recognition and nods once, "Do you have homework?" 

David's face falls, as if Spock had just confirmed his worst fear. "Yes," He finally mutters, getting up to slump down before the coffee table and sift through his folder, pencil in hand. Spock takes his place back on the sofa, checking over some of David's work and helping him with his questions along the way. Of course it's simple stuff to Spock, but to David it's all new and difficult and Spock takes some measure of pleasure in watching his face transform into understanding every time Spock helps him see the problem correctly. When the hour grows late and David's dinner dishes are long since rinsed and placed aside; Spock hears a knock on the door and David groaning in the living room in the center of a small pile of his toys.

"It's Mrs. Harper," He complains as Spock lets the woman in, sighing heavily as the elderly lady sets her bag down on a small table in the foyer and picks up David's jacket to hang in the closet, having an obvious routine. 

"Oh, hello. You must be the friend Jim said was staying over. I'll just be a few minutes with David and then I'll be going, if that's okay," She says with a smile that crinkles the soft edges of her eyes and the corners of her mouth. 

Spock thinks to himself that he could have put David to bed easily enough, but it seems there is a routine he is imposing on and so he doesn’t say anything but motions to the stairs after introducing himself properly, saying goodnight to David before the child trudges upstairs to his room. 

He doesn't mean to wait up, but it's half past the midnight hour by the time Spock hears the front door open and is greeted by the tired form of Jim passing into the house quietly, shutting the door as if any noise might alert the emergency services. But out here, Spock highly doubted anyone would hear a noise from the old house. "Good evening." He says after looking up from a book in his lap, reclining along the sofa with his back pressed up against the arm. 

"Hey." Jim greets tiredly, his voice filled with a weariness that shows plainly in the way he moves as he puts his jacket away and takes his shoes off. Loosening his tie, Jim sinks down into the chair facing Spock and blows out a long breath through pursed lips and puffed cheeks. 

"Do you normally work such late hours?" Spock finally asks, just as Jim's eyes are falling shut, afraid Jim might pass out and sleep there if he doesn't approach some form of conversation. 

"Hm? Oh...yeah, most nights. If I work days I won't be able pick David up from school, so I work the late shift at the Deadwood Tavern." He grimaces a little, "I'm trying to find a better job but the tavern was the only place that would hire me straight away when I moved back here with David." 

"Ah," Spock nods once, "Are you hungry?" 

"No, I ate already, thanks though. I'm going to go to bed. David give you any troubles?" The last part was asked over his shoulder as he got up out of his seat, sliding the tie out from beneath the collar of his shirt. 

"None at all, he is a very well-behaved child." Spock assured him, closing his book and setting it on the coffee table next to David's straightened homework folders. 

"It wasn't always that way..." Jim sighs as they both take to the stairs, Spock behind while Jim turns out lights on his way up, his voice growing quieter as they pass onto the second floor, "David had some major trust issues when we first moved here together. He still does sometimes, but I've learned what sets him off. If I take him places I can't be out of his sight is all," he says with a small shrug, yawning hugely just outside his bedroom door. "I was worried he might give you a fit since he's never stayed with a stranger since the foster system took him. But I suppose being here at the house was assurance enough that he was safe. Thanks again Spock, I'll see you in the morning." With that, he ducks into his own room, closing the door softly behind himself and leaving Spock to retire as well, the house growing quiet aside from the sound of the wind whipping tree branches across window panes and scratching against siding. 

Alone in his room, Spock drifts to the sounds, turned on his side and listening to the other inhabitants of the house turning about in their beds and murmuring in their sleep. He can't recall when it happens, but he drifts off himself a short while later, thoughts of Jim and David's situation swirling in his mind, causing him to consider the ways he might help ease some of the obvious strain off of Jim's burdened shoulders as he grows used to a life he had never asked for.


	5. Faceless Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brings us through Halloween with our three boys with David sporting his Viking turned pirate costume and Jim and Spock along for the ride while they take David trick-or-treating for the first time in cold Riverside, Iowa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are so awesome, you motivate me to keep updating with new chapters and I'm really touched by the positive feed back. I'm so glad you guys are liking it so far and I'm super excited to see where the story leads us with our three boys. I wanted to let you all know that I won't be able to update this Wednesday or Thursday due to alternate and preceding plans. The next possible update will hopefully be up come Friday if I'm not too busy cooking up a storm for my own Thanksgiving.  
> Thanks again for all the support and lovely, lovely comments! They are quite welcome. =]

Early Thursday morning Jim gets up with a small groan and pads into his bathroom, flipping on the lights and squinting as his eyes struggle to adjust from the early morning darkness of his bedroom. It's very nearly six, and Jim has two hours to get David up and ready for school before they have to leave for town. Sometimes it seems like a daunting task, getting a five year-old ready for school in two hours or less, but lately...he's had Spock's help. He doesn't know if the Vulcan is being intentionally helpful, or if he's even conscious of the help he's giving, but every afternoon when Jim rushes home with David in tow, trying to get his ass in gear and ready for work--Spock is in the living room and fully absorbs David in talk about the kid's day, which keeps him out from under foot as Jim scrambles around to leave. 

Not only is Spock helping David with his homework, a task that Mrs. Harper didn't always remember to do, but he also seems to have taken on the task of finding breakfast for David when the two get up - far before Jim even stirs. By the time Jim comes down from showering and dressing in his room, David has been fed and his homework is packed away in his tortoise shell backpack and all that leaves Jim to deal with is getting his son in the shower and into some clothes for school. 

However, this morning seems to be a deviation from their new routine. Jim emerges from his room, his hair still damp from his military quick shower to find David's bedroom door still partially closed, as he had left it the night before after checking on him. Idly checking the time, he approaches the door and brushes it open softly. David is still just a bundled lump under his outer space blankets. Jim is a little relieved David had slept in, but now he knows the two of them will have to move like the wind, like old times, to get ready in time. 

Picking his way across the room, avoiding a few toys haphazardly left out, Jim sinks onto the edge of David's bed and reaches for the soft bedside lamp on the nightstand. Faint illumination casts shimmering stars from the lamp shade as he clicks it on, watching David stir and twist around to hide his face deeper into his comforter, groaning in protest. He knows that feeling, but time is wasting so he reaches out and gently shakes David's shoulder. "C'mon David, it's time to get up. It's time for school." 

"Don't wanna go..." David mumbles sleepily, casting a weary look over his shoulder at his father with sleep bleary eyes. 

"That's not what you said yesterday." Jim chuckles and pulls the blankets down. "C'mon, if you get in the shower, I'll make you some hot cereal." 

"Is Spock coming too?" David blinks, seeming interested. 

"I don't know, but if you're late he won't, so get up," Jim murmurs, getting to his feet and crossing the room to David's dresser. He opens the drawers, gathering clean articles of clothing for the boy, watching him trudge past, dragging his baby blanket after him towards the bathroom. Shaking his head in light amusement, Jim ducks in before David can shut the bathroom door and drops a small pile of clean clothes onto the counter.

Downstairs, the television is off but Spock often leaves it that way when David isn't the first one up. However, the living room is empty, with only the evidence of a PADD resting on the coffee table as a clue that Spock is awake. Spock is warmly dressed and easily found in the kitchen when Jim goes in to start his customary pot of coffee. "Good morning." He greets the Vulcan on his way past, their shoulders brushing as Spock stands at the island cutting board slicing some of the fruit he and Jim had bought at the grocers that week. 

Looking up from the task of quartering a strawberry, Spock inclines his head and observes, "David slept longer today, is that customary for him?" 

"Sometimes," Jim concedes, "usually the closer to the end of the week it gets, the more tired he gets. He'll be positively exhausted by the end of tonight, though I'm not letting him stay up much later than his normal bed time. What are you making?" Jim peers back over Spock's shoulder at the Vulcan's bowl of mixed fruits. 

"I believe you call it a parfait...though I have yet to add the grains and vegan yogurt culture from the fridge." Spock explains lifting a piece of strawberry trapped between his thumb and the edge of the blade in his hand towards Jim. Jim takes it with an appreciative smile. "And what makes tonight so different from any normal bed time?" Spock asks, returning to prepping his breakfast. 

Popping the strawberry half in his mouth, Jim turns to the fridge and gets the milk out, followed by a packet of instant oats from the cupboard. "It's Halloween tonight, Spock." Sliding a bowl of milk into the microwave, Jim programs in a timed setting and whirls to steal another slice of strawberry off Spock's cutting board before he's back to rummaging in the fridge again. "He'll wear his costume tonight and I'll take him into town since our neighbors are a little far to walk to for treats. He'll knock on the townsfolk's doors and beg candy off them with his cuteness. It's tradition." 

Spock arches an incredulous brow at him from across the island counter, his knife never deviating from the board as he continues slicing, not even nicking himself with the blade. "All children do this?" 

"Just the ones with cool parents like me." Jim smirks, setting up some sandwich fixings to quickly put a lunch together for David. 

"Is there not a saying older than the ages stating...'One should not take candy from strangers'?" Spock asks in a somewhat scolding tone but his disapproval is in jest and Jim picks up on that by the slight curve at the corners of his usually prim mouth. 

"Yeah, but on Halloween, it's okay. Besides, that's why you and I are going to personally go through all the candy before we let David eat any of it." Shrugging, Jim slides the sandwich he has made into a cellophane baggie, sealing it up and dropping it into a thermal lunch pail shaped like an elephant.

"Search it for what, Jim?" Spock sounds a little puzzled and Jim admits it sounds a little crazy, but he had heard just enough horror stories to make him not care how overprotective it made him to want to check each piece of candy. 

"Razor blades, needles, poison; I don't know Spock." Jim waves his hands in a blunt dismissal, dropping them onto his hips as he peers back into the fridge for more additions to David's packed lunch. He drags out a small carton of yogurt and an apple, taking out an apple slicer from the utensil drawer to slice the fruit all in one go before bagging it. Spock is silent long enough that Jim slowly turns, looking over at the Vulcan with a questioning brow of his own raised. "What? It's happened...somewhere. Probably." Jim mutters, pouring a handful of golden little fish crackers into a bag, closing David's lunch pail and pushing it to the edge of the counter. "Don't give me that look..." 

"What look?" 

Spock’s voice is positively a monotone by this point and Jim sighs, waving his hand. "The look that says, 'humans are illogical, murderous, cantankerous beings'. Yes, yes we are Spock. Didn't two and a half years with Bones teach you that? Christ, we're the first species who had to resort to shipping their criminals off world to penal colonies because our prisons were too full." Stepping out into the living room, Jim pokes his head around the corner into the foyer and shouts up the stairs, "David, you better be almost done with your shower! Come eat your breakfast!" 

The microwave dings back in the kitchen and Jim retrieves the bowl of milk, ripping open the oatmeal packet and pouring it in. He's still mixing it with a spoon when Spock asks him in an amused but also disapproving tone: "Are you not going to eat breakfast, Jim?" 

Picking up his mug of coffee, Jim lifts it in an awkward, one-sided 'cheers' motion towards Spock. "I've got it right here." He gets another look for that and he knows it was sort of deserved. "I don't have time." 

"You have twenty-eight minutes in which to consume adequate nutrition while David does the same before you must take him to school," Spock interjects, the grinding sound of ceramic on marble making Jim look back towards him with a puzzled glance. 

"Did you make that for me...?" Jim actually grows still, the first moment since waking up that he wasn't in some form of perpetual movement. It was his habit, to constantly be moving with a nervous kind of energy. David had inherited the problem and his teachers often complained that he squirmed about and changed seats a little too often during class. Reaching out, Jim picks up the bowl of mixed fruit and looks back up at Spock, "What about you?" 

"I have already eaten." Spock replies, and is that smugness in those brown eyes? 

Jim shakes his head, squinting at his former First Officer, giving him the full once over. He didn't have time, however, to figure out if Spock was just saying that so he would eat or if Spock had truly eaten. But one glance into the sink told him otherwise, as he spied another bowl and spoon already rinsed in the bottom. 

"Well, uh...thanks." Jim feels a little taken-a-back. When he had invited Spock to stay here during the duration of his shore leave, he hadn't expected Spock to become a sort of nanny and...What, housekeeper? No, more like a babysitter. Did Jim need a babysitter too? Apparently he did if Spock had already noticed he rarely ate in the mornings before taking David to school.

"You are welcome." Spock turns, putting away the ingredients for the parfait. 

Hurried steps come bounding down the stairs and then zooming through the living room and dining room. David attacks a bar-stool, clambering up onto it as he was wont to do before delivering a cheerful and sunny bright 'good morning' to Spock, who returns it with a small nod. "Ooh, what's that?" David asks, inching closer to see what Jim is eating before even touching his own oatmeal resting on the counter before him. 

"It's a parfait, Spock made it for me." Jim dips his spoon into his breakfast, dragging the bottom across the edge of the bowl before offering it to his son, "Want a bite?" 

David's mouth closes greedily around the spoon, engulfing a strawberry with delight and wriggling in his seat before stirring at his oatmeal. "It's good!" He grins. 

 

Jim lifts David into the truck a little while later, both of them waving goodbye to Spock, framed in the living room bay window, before trundling down the drive way and out onto the main road. On their way into town, David poses a question Jim hadn't dared to consider, "Dad is Mr. Spock going to dress up too?" 

"What should he dress up as?" Jim asks, hiding a chuckle in a cough as he pictures a few things himself. Spock would never abandon his logic to allow himself to be dressed up for a holiday celebrating death and evil. Of course, Jim didn't celebrate it for those reasons, rather it was just a fun way to get David excited about something and he could remember the few times he had been allowed to go trick-or-treating with Sam, Frank watching them from the bottom of each drive, smoking a cigar and making them beg to go farther to the next house and the next house before he finally got angry and put his foot down. 

"Hmmn," David thought about it for two full stop-signs before finally perking up again, "A zombie!" 

"I don't think Mr. Spock would like that very much." Jim shakes his head. 

"Oh, okay. What about...James Bond!" David grinned, influenced by some of Jim's favorite old films. 

"Spock isn't exactly the secret agent man type," Or the lady-killing type, he thought to himself. "But maybe if you ask him nicely, he'll be able to come with something on his own that suits him?" 

"Yeah, okay." David sulks a little, both his ideas shot down, perfectly good ones too! 

Dropping David off at school, Jim makes one stop at the thrift store on his way back home, smirking as he looks over some of the mask and small costume accessory items in the picked over display by the entrance. When he gets home, it's to find Spock is still there, the car still parked under the eaves. Either he hadn't been hedging in saying he had no plans, or Spock had only small errands to run that Jim has missed. "Hey, I'm back," He called calls, knowing that Spock had most likely heard his noisy truck rumbling up the main road. "David asked me something on the way to school and I thought he had a good point." Jim drops the plastic shopping sack onto the coffee table before his friend and watches that eyebrow sky-rocket. 

"David mentioned that you and I should dress up for Halloween too. I know you don't celebrate it, but it could be fun and it would kind of hide our identities around town." It wasn't that Jim was met with disapproval from the townsfolk, rather the opposite really. He was a Starfleet hero returning to a tiny, podunk town in Iowa with a cute kid in tow. He was practically a tourist attraction. "Look at these." Pulling out his purchases, Jim shows Spock both a black eye-patch and a Phantom of the Opera half-mask. "What do you think?" Jim grins. 

"I..." Spock eyes both articles of dress-up like they may cause him some mental strain in trying to figure out their practical use, "have no use for either an eye-patch or a mask, James." 

"I know but," Jim bites down on his lips to keep from breaking into another ear-to-ear smile, "David would think it was cool." 

There is a long moment between them where Spock seems torn between refusing and keeping his dignity, or caving to the thought of pleasing a child. It wasn't that Jim thought Spock had a particular soft spot for kids, but the Vulcan had seemed to take a shine in the past week to David. The interest went both ways, David still in awe of their long term visitor. "Very well," Spock says with a small sigh, leaning forward and plucking the eye-patch from Jim's grasp. 

Smirking in muted triumph, Jim slides the half-mask over his own face and adjusts it to fit, sliding a hand over his mouth to hide his laughter as Spock, with a small measure of dread and distaste, shimmies the eye-patch over his head to cover his left eye. "I see no logic in intentionally hampering one's vision by covering up an eye that is not injured." 

"Of course you don't, but you look like a badass," Jim laughs. 

"A...'bad-ass'?" Spock arches a very high brow at that but lets it slide, "you will have to be diligent in not letting me stumble into anything on my left side that I am now blinded on." 

"Oh I'm sure you'll be fine," Jim rolls his eyes, "don't be so melodramatic. People wear them all the time for costume. You don't have to wear it right now though." Chuckling, Jim slips his mask off and sets it on the coffee table. 

 

Later that afternoon, both Jim and Spock go to pick David up from school and are regaled all the way home as David tells them of all the things he has learned in Kindergarten that day. He is still talking as he jumps down from the seat of the truck, gravel crunching under his rain boots. Both Jim and Spock share a mild look on the way into the house and Jim mutters, "They let the kids have one or two pieces of candy in class for Halloween. I say it's their funeral." 

They gather in the kitchen, David at the counter with his homework out but he seems less than enthusiastic about it, unable to focus for long on his workbook as both Jim and Spock prepare a simple dinner of quinoa pasta and sauce. David keeps bringing up his costume, wanting Jim to pull it out and show him, even if Jim had told him days ago that he had been unable to find a Spiderman costume for him. 

Eventually, Jim gives up on trying to make David focus on his studies, sending him up to his room for the last ten to fifteen minutes it takes him and Spock to finish making dinner. They eat together, David asking Spock about the Enterprise and how big it is, how many crew it takes to run it, how fast it can go. Each reply is rather basic but David eats it up like he's ravenous for information about the ship his father used to captain. 

"Don't even bother, we'll do it later..." Jim says with a weary, amused glance at the dishes piled in the sink as Spock makes a motion to start them. "By the time we get into town it will be dusk and the kid has school tomorrow still. If it were up to me, teachers should be smart and think ahead, ask for a teacher work day the day after Halloween. The kids are likely to either be wired, or completely checked out because of exhaustion tomorrow." Shaking his head, Jim ducks upstairs to get David's costume. 

He puts David in his warmest set of pajamas, another one piece that leaves his feet open this time, perfect for a thick pair of socks and his rain boots. Jim had cobbled together a kind of smock from a brown shirt he never wore any longer, cutting the sleeves and hem ragged so it looked worn and presenting David with one of his belts to loop several times around his tiny waist to complete the tunic look. The reaction he gets out of the sword and helmet are good, but nothing when compared to the shout of delight he gets when he drags out the trimmed beard from its bag. 

"A real beard?" David exclaims, "Like a man!" He punches his fist into the air before impatiently letting Jim slide the beard down over his head, brushing at the fake hair to get it to lay flat against David's chest. It's still rather long, sweeping down to just above David's knees, but the look is priceless and Jim straightens up with a laugh as David swipes at the air with his plastic sword shouting 'arr, arr!' 

"I don't think he knows what a Viking is..." Jim says with a smirk, glancing at Spock watching in the doorway to the foyer, arms crossed with an amused light in his eyes. "I think he thinks he's a pirate." 

"Does it matter what he believes he is for tonight?" Spock asks with arched brows, winning another chuckle out of Jim. 

"No, I suppose not. Hey David," Jim turns, striding into the living room and receiving a somewhat defeated look from Spock as he comes back with his half-mask and the eye patch, handing the latter out to Spock, who takes it somewhat begrudgingly. "Look what Spock and I got." Sliding his mask on, Jim turns in time to see Spock snap the patch on over his left eye and grins as he hears a gleeful gasp from behind them. 

David is thrusting his sword through the air, roaring, "You guys look so COOL!" He points at Jim, "You're half-face bad guy," his finger turns to Spock, "and you're a super-villain and I'm going to get'chu!" He prods Jim with the end of his plastic sword but Jim grips the tip and gives it a little shove back. 

"None of that now or you'll be a pirate without a sword." Jim finds David's scarf in the back of the hall closet and winds it around his son's neck, laughing when each time David moves his head, his helmet gets knocked sideways, looking like a really big and bad yamaka.

Bundling David in his new winter jacket, Jim picks his son up and they all traipse out of the house, locking up behind themselves and piling into the truck with their new pirate kid in his booster seat. They aren't driving for long before the houses start to appear closer together on the main road and Jim pulls off to the side of the road, shutting off the truck and handing David his plastic jack-o-lantern goody bucket. "You all set, kid?" 

"Yeah!" David roars, probably nearly bursting Spock's eardrum as he kicks his feet against the seat and jams his sword forward at the windshield. "Let’s steal all their candy!" 

Out in the street, Jim stops David before they continue on, making sure he has his attention before speaking in warning, "You stay on the sidewalk, and if you want to cross the street, you wait for me so you can hold my hand, okay?" 

"Yessir." David nods emphatically, gripping his sword in one hand and his bucket in the other while simultaneously trying to steady his helmet on his head as it slides. 

"Alright, there's the first house," Jim says, turning his kid loose on the neighborhood as he and Spock follow behind, hands in their pockets for warmth. "Wait!" Jim shouts as David gets to the top of the first drive way, "Jesus, I forget how fast he is when he's eager." They catch up and Jim nods, "Go ahead." 

David comes back from the first house with a beaming grin, digging his piece of candy out of his bucket to show Jim, "Look Dad, candy!" 

"Save it for later, son. C'mon, let’s go. We've got a lot of houses to canvas tonight. I mean, pillage..." He smirks, catching Spock's eye roll at the term. 

It's smooth going most of the way, David bounding up to each house, coming across a few other trick-or-treaters along the sidewalk, walking in groups with parents hovering behind; some older and some younger. A few recognize David and wave at him, friends from his school no doubt. At every door David proudly announces that he is a pirate, waving his sword in demonstration and nearly spilling his candy a few times as the bucket grows more full. He complains after the tenth house or so that his bucket is getting heavy and so Jim begins to carry it for him between houses. 

At one house, David hangs back, uncertainty plain in his blue eyes, scanning the yard of the house. It's decked out to look like a spooky graveyard, one of those over-zealous holiday decorators Jim had noticed while he had been in town throughout the week. There were headstones and fog machines churning up mist through the yard and pathway up to the door and the light-bulbs had been swapped out for green and purple colored ones, lending an eerie glow to the place. "You don't have to go to that one David, if you don't want to," Jim assures his son, who grips his sword tightly and looks at his bucket of candy in the other hand. 

"But what if they have the best candies, Dad?" He pouts. 

"Well, Spock and I can walk up with you." He already knows that won't be an option as his son squares his shoulders and shakes his head 'no'. 

"Imma pirate and I'm the good guy, they're the bad guys!" He says with a surge of determination, marching up the drive way. He grows more and more scared though as he gets closer to the door. Jim can see it and he's about to go up behind him, but thinks better of it, knowing his movements might scare David if he isn't paying attention to what is behind him. David raps his tiny knuckles against the door and they all wait a minute or two, David fidgeting and glancing nervously at a fake skull with a flickering electric candle in its head by his feet to greet him. 

It's only when a woman in a witch's costume opens the door that Jim realizes he shouldn't have let David walk up to the house alone. He can't hear what the woman says but her face is entirely painted green with a long fake nose glued to her own, her fingernails long and clicking as she greets his son and offers him candy from the dish. But David just stands there, and Jim almost calls out to him but he is forestalled by a terrified shriek, David tearing off down the path back to the drive way, running so fast his feet barely seem to touch the ground and losing some candy pieces as his bucket bounces against his side. His sword clatters to the ground as he launches himself at the nearest safe harbor, which happens to be Spock. 

Spock, thankfully, catches the child turned flying projectile, stumbling only one step back to his credit, his heavier frame withstanding the impact. He wraps protective arms around David, who is burying his face against the Vulcan's shoulder, his bucket of candy forgotten and hanging over his arm at the elbow, knocking against Spock's arm and spilling more candy out onto the pavement. Jim approaches just as he hears Spock urgently murmur, "Are you hurt David? What happened?" He casts widened eyes towards Jim which are devoid of understanding, "This is a dangerous holiday," He almost growls and Jim can't help but give him a weak smile. 

"It's okay, he's just scared of her, he'll be fine. She probably shocked him, he wasn't expecting it." Jim says, trying to pacify them both, reaching out to rest a hand on David's back as the child continues to cower into Spock. 

"He shouldn't have to be scared for any reason." Spock's tone is firm and allows no room for argument and Jim sighs. 

"I guess it's time we went home anyway, it will be nearly nine by the time I get him into bed. C'mon kiddo, let go of Spock, you're okay. Want to pick up your candy?" Jim asks in a gently urging tone but David just shakes his head, only relinquishing his sword and bucket to Jim when he pulls on them. Turning back towards the house, Jim notices the woman of the house, looking a little rueful and sympathetic as she calls an apology out to them, asking if their child is okay, and Jim almost answers her before he realizes what she's thinking. She thinks that David is theirs, as in, their kid. He lifts a hand in a nod and farewell, dismissing her from their little group and ushering Spock back towards the truck, a ways back down the street and around the corner. 

"You could probably put him down now..." Jim murmurs to Spock when they've gone about five houses down the road but Spock only looks at him, continuing to carry David, with the child's legs braced against his hips and his arms twined around his neck like a front facing baby koala or sloth and Jim falls silent, feeling waves of judgement sliding off of Spock as they make their way back. David only concedes to being put into his booster seat when Spock tells him he cannot hold him while the vehicle is moving. When they get home Jim parks the truck and Spock is lifting David out of his booster seat before he can even reach for his own son's seat belt. David looks exhausted by the time Spock sets him down in the foyer, rubbing his eyes sleepily. Jim sets the bucket of candy on the coffee table, breaking the awkward silence, "Why don't you go upstairs and take your costume off David, I'll be up there in a minute to tuck you in, okay?" 

"No candy...?" David asks half-heartedly, but he doesn't press too hard when Jim says no and that he can have some with his lunch at school tomorrow.

When David is out of earshot, Spock casts Jim a hard look, "Halloween is a pointless holiday, why would anyone subject their child to such terror?" 

"You act like I knew he would have been scared by that woman?" Jim frowns, shrugging his jacket off and hanging it up in the closet, sliding the mask off over his head and dropping it onto the side table in the hall. "I asked him if he wanted to skip the house and he didn't, he wanted to be brave and I let him. I'm not going to be one of those smothering parents not letting their kid get a single independent moment out of their lives. Believe me...I lived the smothered life for a while until Mom realized I was too much of a hellion for her to keep her eyes glued to for more than a minute." Sighing, he passes by Spock into the living room, feeling that stare on his back as he sits at the sofa and dumps the bucket of candy out across the coffee table for inspection. "Are you going to help me or not?" 

"Help you look for more dangerous items in a child's candy?" Spock asks and Jim can't be sure if that's a tone of mocking or one of seething disdain in his voice but he chooses not to remark on it.

"You know, every kid gets scared Spock. I'm sure you had your moments as a kid too, right? Never mind that though, he'll be fine. It wasn't enough to emotionally scar him for the rest of his life, he's got enough scars to be a tough kid by now Spock, give him a little more credit." That seems to soften the Vulcan up a little more and Spock finally joins him on the couch, if somewhat reluctantly. 

"He was genuinely terrified Jim, you didn't feel it as I did." Spock says softly, picking up a candy bar and inspecting the seal before placing it back into the bucket. 

"Were you reading my son, Mr. Spock?" Jim asks, narrowing his eyes. 

Spock has the good grace to look a little embarrassed, shifting a piece of candy around in his fingers before relenting again, "It was automatic, James. I didn't consciously decide to do so but his emotions were so stark, I couldn't help but pick up on them, even through his clothing. He was horrified, Jim." 

"I know, and you calmed him down, end of story." Jim replies dismissively, "It wasn't my arms but yours he jumped into, Spock; you should feel kind of flattered. He doesn't often take to other adults so easily and he's only known you a matter of days. If he didn't trust you he would have sought me out instead." 

That quiets Spock for a while and they sort through the candy in peace. It's only when they have finished, David's candy all neatly returned to the bucket and the fire banked low for the night, that Spock opens his mouth to make another remark. "There was a Noh mask my mother owned a long time ago back on Vulcan and when I was a child, I could almost confidently believe that from every place I stood in the entryway to our home, that mask’s eyes would follow my every movement." 

Blinking, Jim can't help but smile a little, "Ah, linear perspective." Jim nods, "the mask was well painted then." 

"Yes, it was well crafted. But the single most unsettling piece of art my mother owned in our home." Spock admits, his gaze turning a little sheepish. 

"Did she know you were scared of it?" He asks Spock. 

"Not in so many words, but she did notice that I avoided the hall alone at night sometimes, even if it was illogical to do so. The mask could not hurt me and I knew that to be true, but a child's imagination is a wild thing at times." Spock shifts on the sofa, half turning his back into the corner of the couch so he faces Jim a little better. "It no longer bothered me when Mother told me why it seemed to watch passersby. By that time, however, she had moved it to my Father's office." 

Grinning, Jim slides his arm along the back of the couch and slumps to put his feet up on the coffee table in comfort, "For me, it was dogs when I was a kid. They were usually bigger than me, especially around here where all the farms owned big farm dogs and shepherding dogs." He stares into the fire, remembering, "There was this one time the neighbor dog got loose from its kennel and I was so terrified. I hadn't even seen it yet, just heard it, and I ran so fast into that barn out back that I nearly slammed the door off its hinges." Laughing ruefully, he shrugs a little, "So memories of fear do stick with you a little bit, but at least you can look back on them when you're older and get a chuckle out of it. I grew out of my fear of dogs, just as David will forget how terrifying he thought witches were today." 

Slowly, Spock nods and smooths a hand down the front of his denim clad leg, "I seemed to have overreacted earlier then and I apologize, Jim, I should not be trying to tell you how you ought to raise or restrict David. He is your son and you know what is best for him in this matter." 

Momentarily speechless at the apology, Jim only nods, finally managing, "It's okay Spock, I should have explained the whole Halloween thing a little better. Sometimes it's fun to be scared a little, it makes you laugh and your heart beat really fast for a moment or two. But in David's case, it wasn't all that fun and I can see how you would think I was subjecting him to something terrible on purpose or out of ignorance." 

"At least," Spock continues, brow arched, "he did not strike the woman with his sword in his reaction." 

Jim bursts out laughing, almost able to see his son doing such a thing to a stranger in his state of shock, his laughter dying off into chuckles that make him rub a thumb under his right eye, "Yeah, I guess you're right about that. Maybe no weapons next year." 

"Or eye-patches..." Spock says, sliding the patch off over his head and tossing it onto the coffee table. 

Jim doesn't let himself ponder that statement too long, for he doesn’t want to set himself up for making assumptions. There was no way he could know if Spock had meant he might return to spend the holiday with them again next year. But it was a nice thought, one he boxed up in his mind for much, much later, perhaps even after Spock had left after the New Year. "No, no eye-patches," He agrees softly, turning a slow smile towards his friend and companion. "Goodnight, Spock." Slowly, he pitches himself forward and stands, circling around the couch and moving upstairs to tuck his son in for the night, hoping a nice story in bed will chase away any nightmares the neighbor woman might have triggered in his mind for the night.


	6. Snowballs and Snow-Vulcans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We discover how a Vulcan fairs in colder Iowa weather and just how one Vulcan handles a five year-old child at the height of excitement and the lows of sorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving folks! Sorry for the delay in updating but with the holiday I found myself way too busy between work and cooking and shopping. I hope the long post makes up for my absence. Also, I cannot thank you enough for the positive comments I have been receiving and they are always appreciated and welcome, I love to know what you guys are thinking about the story and your theories. Feel free to let me know your thoughts about the developing story-line between Spock and David, and Spock and James. =]  
> Now let us return to our lovely boys...

November seventh brings with it a frigid morning during which Spock awakes to a room which is overly bright for the hour. Blinking, he rubs a hand across his eyes and sits up, peering towards the window across the room. When he slides his legs out of bed it's with a terrible shudder and a hissing wince as he places his feet on the floor. Even through the thick rug on the hardwood floor, Spock can feel the iciness beneath. He quickly finds a pair of socks in his suitcase and pulls them on; then cups his hands over his mouth to blow on his fingers as they freeze outside the warmth of his blankets. 

Approaching the window, Spock hooks a finger around the thin curtains and draws them back, using his hand to wipe the fog off the pane to see outside. It's immediately clear why the room is so much brighter; the sun is reflecting off a fluffy blanket of snow covering the land as far as his eye can see. It turns shapes in the yard into amorphous lumps and swells and makes him squint in order to see what must be the drive way. Jim's truck is blanketed out front, drifts forming up against the white-walled tires. 

It would seem James was not exaggerating the harshness of Iowa winters and Spock has to dig out a second warm layer to wear from his suitcase before he can venture from his room to attend to his morning ablutions. He half expects the water coming out of the taps to form into solid ice, but he knows he is only being over dramatic, even if the water is beyond ice cold. It takes it a while to warm up, steaming up the mirror above the sink a little as the hot water fills the sink.

He bends to splash the hot water over his face, and it feels nice for the three and a half seconds it remains warm on his skin, then the cold air in the house quickly turns the damp sensation unpleasant. He briskly dries his face and hands as he shivers his way out of the bathroom and onto the landing. David's door is still closed most of the way but he can hear the child turning over in his bed as he passes on the stairs. He finds Jim in the living room, stoking the fire to roaring flames, already dressed in jeans and a thick sweat-shirt with the hood up, his boots damp from his trek outside to bring in wood. Spock must look agitated, because when Jim turns towards the living room entryway and sees him, his expression breaks into one of self-satisfied smugness. 

"Hey," His grins widens even further, no doubt noticing Spock's clenched teeth, his only option to keep himself from the undignified actions of shuddering and chattering teeth. "I did say it was going to snow. Are you regretting not going back to the city and shipping out to the Bay Area to brave out the holiday season there? It only gets foggy and mildly unpleasant there for Christmas. Nothing like this." 

Jim sets three split logs beside the hearth for later and crosses the room to look at the old-fashioned thermostat mounted on the wall. He adjusts it, and a moaning creak reverberates throughout the house. Spock amends his knowledge of the house to include the presence of a basement level where he hears an ancient sounding mechanism rumble to life in response to Jim's tinkering at the thermostat. It seems that the house does contain a central-heating system, though it must be older than the Ambassador Selik himself. 

"I do not regret my decision, Jim, though I am regretting the choice of attire I saw fit to pack for this trip." Spock can actually see his breath when he opens his mouth to speak and he shifts his feet from the bare floor to the rug in the living room for some respite. "Perhaps I will be sleeping on the sofa tonight in the company of a fire." He does not know how he managed to stay asleep through the dropping temperatures last night, but the heavily sewn quilt Jim had dropped onto the foot of his bed the night before probably had something to do with it. Even if it wasn't an insulated synthetic, it seemed the old fashioned Terran traditions for quilt making had some secrets to them after all. That blanket had been bliss. 

"You didn't bring a pair of long-johns did you?" Jim asks after turning a long stare on him. 

"What are... 'long-johns'? Another attempt at ironic humor?" Spock imagines a very tall man named John.

James gives a short bark of laughter with a thread of pity woven in, "They are the only way you're going to stay warm and dry in the ensuing weather, Spock. I suggest we pick you up a pair at the local feed store." Moving into the kitchen with Spock in tow, Jim sets his coffee maker to begin a cycle, feeding water into its reservoir. "They're like a thick-knitted kind of one-piece suit. Do you remember when we had to wear those uncomfortable flame-retardant suits on Opus 9? They're like that, only without the headpiece. Swap that out for a nifty butt flap and you've got long-johns." Jim takes amusement in the bewildered glance Spock casts him and places a pan on the stove, opening the refrigerator door to stare into the depths wordlessly for a time, deliberating. 

"Why would a rear-entry flap be required in the attire?" Spock questions, his tone flat even to his own ears. 

Jim visibly stills and casts him a long, scrutinizing look, which Spock cannot decipher. Clearing his throat and with a fist to his lips, Jim turns towards the skillet and begins cracking eggs into it, the gas flame of the burner leaping to life with a blue glow at his adjustment of the round knobs on the interface. "Well, Spock, it wasn't designed for entry exactly..." he squints, continuing in a hesitant fashion, "on the off chance you were a lucky husband I guess, but usually it's for...exiting." 

At Spock's still confused look, Jim waves him off and changes the subject, abruptly ending the moment for any more questions about 'long-johns'. "David is going to be awake soon, but before I'm letting him out to play in the snow, he's got to eat. You're welcome to join us, but if you don't have proper clothes for the occasion, I'll tell David you're not up to it and keep him distracted out there. I've got to wear him out this afternoon since I have to work tonight; it'll make him extra quiet and easy to handle later so he won't be bothering you so much." 

Spock sits at the island counter while Jim cooks what seems to be a cheese omelet, casting his former Captain a long, measuring look. "Jim, it seems you are under the impression that David causes me some manner of annoyance or hinders me in some way." 

Pausing in his prodding at the omelet, Jim half turns to meet Spock's gaze; "Doesn't he though? He can be loud, insatiably curious, overly energetic, and sometimes downright rude. Most kids are, especially ones with a parent like me." Looking away, Jim doesn't meet Spock's eyes again. 

"He is a child, and if he was not curious, loud, or energetic I would be concerned for his well-being. At least, as a human child, his personality and habits, when in comparison to your own observed traits, makes perfect sense." Spock rises when the coffee maker finishes its cycle, finding two mugs and pouring the steaming beverage into each, handing one off to Jim, who looks at him a little dubiously. 

"Are you saying I'm obnoxious and rambunctious?" Jim smirks. 

"On occasion." Spock hides the quivering smile trying to form on his lips behind the rim of his mug as he takes a wary sip of the acrid smelling beverage, immediately regretting it and pursing his lips. 

"You hate coffee." His friend says with eyes shining with humor at his expense. "Why did you drink it?" 

"I had hoped the warmth of the beverage would outweigh the costs of its terrible taste." Spock lowers the mug and wraps both his hands around it instead, using it to heat his fingers efficiently. 

Chuckling, Jim drinks from his own mug and flips the omelet over in the pan, "Do you want some of this? I know it has cheese in it, but I've seen you eat by-products of animals before so..." Trailing off, Jim grabs a plate and tips the omelet out of the skillet, cutting it into three portions before separating two out amongst two other plates lined up on the counter top. David is not yet awake, but it seems Jim is anticipating his arrival, toward which Spock hears shuffling upstairs and the closing of the bathroom door above them. It would seem Jim's parenting ear is just as attuned as Spock's Vulcan hearing when it comes to David's movements. 

"I would appreciate the meal." Spock says, "Although I will pass on the bacon." He had seen Jim get out the paper wrapped sack of meat cuts earlier, smelled its chemical washed sting overlaying the aroma of preserved carcass. 

"I think you're going to lose weight in this house." Jim says with a rueful grin, "there is still some fruit in the fridge if you'd like." 

There comes an excited shout from the landing which Spock can only believe is made by David and he pauses, placing his plate on the dining room table along with his mug, which has made his fingers perfectly toasty by this time. 

"Holy COW dad, it SNOWED!" David's bellowing voice comes from the entryway, where David is no doubt peering out through the thin window beside the front door. Spock can tilt his head to the side and just see through the living room and past the corner of the stairwell the outline of one small hand pressed to the glass. A bright, excited face appears next as David whips around and dashes through to the kitchen, socked feet sliding along the wood floor as he rounds the corner and catches the counter at chest level with his hands. "Like... A TON!" He shouts, running around the dining room table to scramble to a stop beside Spock's chair, grabbing at the edge of the table to steady himself as he asks Spock with awe and incredulity, "Did you SEE Mr. Spock!?" 

"I did observe the weather David," he doesn't have a chance to say much more before David is scrambling past him to nearly run into his father at the stove, hanging off his arms on the oven door handle, crouching on the floor with his arms outstretched ridiculously long above his head. "Can I plaaaaaay dad?" He wheedles, a begging tone to his voice. 

"Stop that," Jim says with a half -smile, reaching down to grip David's wrists and physically remove him from the handle of the oven door, pulling him up to stand on his own two small feet then picking him up with a low grunt to set him against his hip and picking up a plate of omelet and bacon in the other hand. "In a little bit, but first you need to eat something so you'll have the strength to wander around out there. Alright?" 

Seemingly distracted by the excitement of snow and the presence of bacon, David doesn't exactly protest as he's set down in a dining room chair adjacent to Spock, sitting on his knees and picking a strip of bacon off his plate to chew on as he turns bright blue eyes on his father's friend. "Are you going to play too Mr. Spock?" He asks, wriggling around in his seat, reaching with both hands towards a capped toddler mug of milk, which Jim sets down next to him along with a child-sized fork. "We can build a snowman and stuff!" 

"This kind of weather isn't the most comfortable for Vulcans, kid." Jim says from the kitchen where he is pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee while standing over a plate of omelet and bacon for himself. 

"Oh..." David seems to think about that for a few moments, still chewing on his bacon, when he presses his hands into the table top, leaning towards Spock in his excited effort to solve a problem he hadn't foreseen. "You could, you could..um, you could," David stammers through his words, seemingly to buy time as he straightens out his idea and puts it into words, "you could wear like, ALL your clothes at once and be warm." David grins, laughing a little and one look at Jim catches the man mid-eye roll, but James is smiling. 

"Though I would be rather encumbered under such attire, your logic is sound. More layers do equate to the conservation of body heat. However, I believe I will survive just fine with two sweaters, two pairs of pants, and two pairs of socks." Spock allows a small smile to be directed towards David, as it seems to delight the child and make him more comfortable in Spock's presence. 

"You can't be serious, Spock." Jim blinks, finally joining them at the dining table with his half-eaten breakfast and coffee. "You'll freeze. I'll entertain the kid and you can keep an eye on the fire while we're gone." 

"I did undergo the same environmental conditioning training as you did in Starfleet, James. I know how to handle myself in extreme temperatures, and the mental control it takes to block out their effects and function normally comes to me naturally." He says dismissively, tucking his feet under the dining chair and leaning back in his seat to brave another sip of the cooling coffee in his mug, earning another raised eyebrow from the former captain. 

"Alright, but I'm not planning on spending my afternoon thawing out a frozen Vulcan, so if you get too cold, you can just head back in. David shouldn't really be out there for long stretches of time anyway, he might have proper winter clothes now but he's got the blood of a Californian. I'm sure he'll be cold long before you or I will be." Jim takes their plates to the sink, David's mouth too full of egg to make the retort clearly written on his face. 

"You underestimate the will of a child determined to explore and discover, Jim. Would you have gotten cold quickly as a child in his age group?" Spock gets up to pour out his now chilled cup of coffee, shadowed by David's short and adamant agreement and emphatic nodding as he clamors out of his seat at the table. 

"Hey, I can always hope, right?" Jim casts him a knowing look however, but Spock knows he is right about David's will to play being a strong one when Jim directs his son to go upstairs and dress warmly. "Put on your thick socks, David, and your thickest sweater too!" They are left in silence after the retreat of pounding, excited footsteps from the child dashing back up the stairs to his room and Spock takes another long glance outside through the window in the backdoor. Jim approaches to join him there, standing side-by-side, another mug in Jim's hand curling fingers of hot steam up towards his face as he takes a sip. "Somehow, I can't see you building a snowman..." 

"I admit I am not familiar with the process..." Spock says, "Although I have been told I learn rather quickly." 

Smirking, Jim nods, more to himself than towards Spock, "Well, best get ready to be covered in snow then." 

 

It's a short time later that the three of them stand outfitting themselves in the front foyer. Spock has donned the thermal under layers he usually wears aboard the Enterprise, where the environmental controls are always set too cool for Vulcan comfort outside his own quarters; Jim and David have put on versions of jumpsuits that Spock has never seen before. 

As Jim had explained, David's jumpsuit does indeed have a buttoned flap at the back and Spock refrains from commenting in confusion as they pull on layers. Spock thinks better of wearing jeans and in the end, instead he dons a pair of water repellent pants; a part of his regulation outer wear. He puts on his thickest sweater and the insulated jacket he had worn during his first trek through Iowa in coming to visit his former Captain. He doesn't have a hat, and when Jim notices, he seems mildly shocked and appalled by that fact; disappearing upstairs and returning a moment later to hand Spock a black sack top hat he calls a 'beanie'. David is so trussed up with thick clothes that he complains to Jim that he cannot put his arms down at his sides, but no amount of complaining will persuade Jim to change his attire and the three of them step out onto the porch in booted feet. 

Spock immediately feels the chilling bite of cold air against his face and pulls the collar of his jacket up a little higher. David is off like a phaser shot, bounding off the porch steps and landing in the snow up to his shins with a gleeful smile that stretches from one corner of his mouth to the other. Jim follows at a slower pace but has the same glow in his blue eyes as his son as he turns towards Spock and scoops up some snow in his gloved hand, "I'm glad I had an extra pair of gloves." Jim nods towards Spock, who looks down at his leather clad fingers and flexes them appreciatively. His hands are a little larger than Jims however, so the fit is tight, but Spock cannot complain as he steps off the porch. He observes David some twenty yards away, already at the fence along the edge of the property line, bouncing through the deeper drifts there. 

In his distraction, Spock doesn't see the messy, wet glob of snow until it smacks into his chest and scatters to the snow below at his feet. Blinking, Spock skims a hand down over his chest, dislodging clinging bits of snow from his jacket and noticing Jim some feet away, backing up with another ball of snow molded in his hands. It isn't violent, per se, and Jim hadn't aimed at his face, but Spock is hesitant to retaliate until he hears from across the yard in a quavering child's voice, "SNOW BALL FIIIIIGHT!" Another mess of snow hits him on the hip and Spock stoops to gather snow in his gloved hand. With a determined glint in his gaze, he casts it back at Jim. 

"Run! Two against one!" Jim calls, grabbing David by the hand as the child finally catches up to them again and pulling his child up by the arm out of the snow, swinging him forward in large leaps through the snow as the two run off towards the left side of the house. Spock finds it harder than it looked to mold the wet snow into a ball, noting the current condition of the snow to be less than ideal for sculpting a projectile. He takes aim at Jim, not so heartless as to hit David as he lobs the snow in his first effort, noting the trajectory of his snowball. It flies apart half way to his target and scatters across Jim's back like hail pellets. He notes his short- comings and begins to try again as both father and son disappear around the corner of the house towards the back. 

He follows at a slower pace, skirting close to the farmhouse and peering around the corner with a wet ball molded in his hands. Jim has lifted David up onto his shoulders and is crouched behind what appears to be an piece of farm equipment. David is hurriedly scooping fluffy snow off the hood of the vehicle, making it into crude lumps and balls in his tiny hands, while Jim is crouched behind the large vehicle tire doing his own crafting. Spock stoops next to the end of the tarp -covered pile of cut wood pieces and begins quickly fashioning his own snowballs. He only has time to build four by the time his assailants are one the move again; David balanced on Jim's shoulders with two snowballs in his hands and Jim moving out from behind the farm equipment with a small armload of projectiles which he begins to lob towards Spock to flush him out into the open. Spock ducks the first few before standing and lobbing his own. He catches Jim in the side and in the shoulder, effectively blocked by David's knee. He catches one in the backside when he turns to scoop up more snow and turns to see Jim and David dissolve into laughter, ducking for cover as Spock lobs another snowball at them both. 

"Truce, truce!" Jim calls with a laugh, his hands held up high. 

"Who won?" David asks breathlessly as he slides down his father's back and into the snow, lifting some snow towards his mouth to lick at it, getting some stuck to his nose and cheeks. 

"Let’s call it a tie." Jim grins as Spock approaches him, holding up his hands in supplication and melting into more silent laughter when Spock breaks a fluffy snowball in his hand upon the top of Jim's head. "Okay, okay. Spock won." He smiles. 

"Let’s make a snowman!" David says and stoops, beginning to scoop together snow around him into a mound on the ground, exposing the frozen dirt beneath his feet in the process. 

"You don't want to dip so far down you get dirt, kid. Then you'll have a dirty looking snowman. C'mon, I'll show you." Crouching, Jim joins David in grabbing up snow from the surrounding area until they have a large enough ball that David can begin to roll across the yard. Jim eventually has to help him as the ball gets larger and larger and harder to push, and Spock watches until Jim asks him to start another ball in the snow. He begins to see the result of this endeavor and rolls a second, smaller ball through the snow towards the resting place of the first, then he and Jim lift it to sit upon the first. Spock balances it as Jim and David scoop snow into the resulting crack between the first and second ball until they have the two segments joined, making it look something like the thorax of an insect.

"How this looks like the human body, I cannot begin to understand." Spock says when Jim finally places a smaller ball atop the second, completing a three-balled body in the snow with a few bits of twigs and leaves stuck to it which he plucks free. 

"I'll find sticks!" David volunteers and runs off towards the barn in the East, looking to his sides as he goes. 

Jim pulls two smooth stones from his pocket and inserts them into the upper most snowball. "Eyes." he explains at Spock's confused glance and again when he sticks two oval-shaped leaves into the sides, "and ears." He grins, "It's a snow-Vulcan." 

Spock arches his brows and takes a step back, saying dryly, "I fail to see the resemblance." 

Stooping, Jim plucks two twigs he had pulled from the segmented body earlier and poses them at a slant above the two stone eyes, creating tipped brows. "There...perfect." He laughs and by this time David has returned with two sticks of opposite sizes. One is long and covered in twiggy branches; the other is short and spiny, sticking to his cotton glove. Spock's arched brow only ascends higher still when both Jim and David shove the sticks into the center body piece, one spindly hand extending clear to the ground while the other remains crooked up in an almost questioning gesture that Jim changes with the snapping of little minor twigs into a facsimile of the Vulcan greeting Ta'al.

Folding his arms over his chest, Spock pretends to take offense but cannot help the softening of his eyes when David takes a step back and declares, "It's Mr. Spock!" Glancing between two grinning human faces, Spock steps forward to adjust one twigged eyebrow slightly higher than the other in a semblance of his current expression, making Jim grin and David laugh and fall backwards into the snow dramatically. 

"Now it's Mr. Spock." Jim says, clapping a hand on Spock's shoulder as the two of them turn to watch David flail about in the snow on his back. 

"What is he doing...?" Spock asks with some mild concern, because surely David is getting snow down the back of his jacket. 

"He's making a snow angel." Reaching down, Jim tugs David up from the ground to help him preserve the shape of his angel and Spock twists his head slightly to the side in order to see the similarity in the religious icon and the snowy one on the ground. Brushing David off, Jim glances up at the sky out of habit and finds the glowing orb of sunlight through the cloud cover, judging the time like he would on almost all of their away missions to alien planets. "Well, I think it's time we went inside and got warm for a little while, have some lunch. C'mon David, let’s go." He urges the reluctant child, but not before David turns, asking: "Can we come back out after lunch too?" 

"Maybe, we'll see." Jim replies as they all walk towards the backdoor of the house. Jim opens it first, making David remove his snow-covered boots on the first step before lifting him into the house and directing him to remove his snowy clothes onto the kitchen floor and not track melting snow through the house. Spock removes his own boots before entering the kitchen, stripping off his jacket, hat and gloves. Jim hangs David's coat and snow pants over the back of dining chairs; taking Spock's to do the same, alongside his own. 

They eat bowls of reheated pasta from the night before, each curled up in respective spots before the fireplace in the living room. Spock sits on the edge of the coffee table closest to the fire while David curls up in the corner of the couch, and Jim sits in the armchair nearest Spock. He tugs a blanket off the back of the sofa to tuck over David as he takes their dishes back to the kitchen, and Spock listens to David's excitement about the next approaching holiday. 

"I'm going to write Santa a letter and tell him everything I want for Christmas." He says with a determined little nod and Spock half turns where he sits to regard David. 

"And...Santa Claus is the magical being who brings you things if you are a well-behaved child for the year, correct?" He wasn't entirely ignorant of the traditions of Terran holidays; after all he had grown up with a human mother. Even if he hadn't exactly celebrated those holidays, his mother had her own traditions she had liked to keep. She would make hot drinks from spices and fruit juices, even if the weather on Vulcan had remained hot, not at all like the Seattle winters she had described to him as a child. She had talked about Earth traditions kids his age took part in and Spock would think about how odd it would have been, to put material hopes and beliefs into a being that seemed otherwise benevolent and somewhat inappropriate. What person watched every child when they slept and when they were awake? It was virtually impossible and unnecessary, Vulcan children were always well-behaved. Even if his mother would say otherwise... 

Snapping out of his thoughts, Spock finds David staring at him curiously, realizing he had zoned out through part of the child's long list of toys and things he wanted for Christmas. "What do you want for Christmas, Mr. Spock?" He asks softly, his hands wrapped around a small mug of cocoa Jim must have brought him not a moment ago. 

What did he want? Spock thinks for a moment, though he knows it's silly because he doesn't celebrate Christmas, even though it seemed he would be this year in the Kirk's house. "A high-powered, micro-programmable laser microscope would be very helpful for a few of my on-going studies." Spock says, noting David's round and uncomprehending eyes. "It would let me see and observe very, very tiny things." He explains in the easiest of words to David, who nods briskly. 

"Oh, yeah. I want one too; that would come in handy." David says, which Spock accepts with a small amused flicker of his lips. "Is that all you want for Christmas?" David seems somewhat stricken that Spock only wants one thing, and the Vulcan considers his options before replying: 

"Perhaps a few books, but I am uncertain as to whether those missing from my collection are even in print any longer." Spock muses softly, thinking of the few his mother had read to him as a child from her own collection, which Spock had anticipated inheriting from her before the destruction of Vulcan two years ago. 

"You can have some of my books, Mr. Spock. I have a lot of books and Dad reads to me before bed every night. There are a lot I've already read, if you want 'em." David offers with the most pure and open look Spock has ever seen from a child, so innocent and well-meaning that it twists his heart in his side for a moment. 

"You may want to re-read some of those books someday, David." Spock replies, which produces a shrug out of David. 

"You can borrow them, like we borrow from the library sometimes." David replies and Spock looks away into the flames in the fireplace, not wanting David to see the thousand-yard stare the conversation had drawn out of him. 

"Maybe..." Spock says simply, looking up as Jim returns with two steaming mugs of tea for the both of them, handing one off to Spock. 

"What you get from Santa this year depends on whether you've been a good boy or not, David." Jim says with a sigh and a grunt as he sinks into the other side of the couch opposite David, who looks a little affronted as he sits up and replies. 

"I have too been a good boy; Santa will HAVE to bring me lots of toys." He says, blue eyes a little panicked until Jim calms him down. 

"Of course you have been...I'm sure you'll see presents under the tree this year David, don't worry. But you had better write your letter soon, Santa's got to get started early this year if he hopes to get good deals-" he stops abruptly and backtracks, casting a wry smirk over to Spock past the rim of his mug, "I mean, he's got a lot of kids to get through this year, you wouldn't want to be the last kid to get his letter in, would you?" 

David shakes his head hard, eyes wide, "I'll write it tonight!" 

"Good, then I'll mail it for you tomorrow..." Jim promises, checking the time by the clock on the mantle above the fireplace. "I've got to go soon, kiddo, why don't you go get my communicator off the dresser upstairs and I'll call Mrs. Harper to let her know to head on over tonight, mmkay?" 

With David trudging upstairs dragging the sofa blanket behind him, Spock seizes the opportunity to ask, "You indulge him in his beliefs?" 

"I do...when I was a kid my brother ruined the wonder of Christmas and Santa for me by telling me the truth. I'll let him believe as long as he wants to and if and when he asks someday, I'll tell him. But I want to keep him a kid as long as I can, you know? More fun that way." Propping his feet up on the sofa in David's vacated spot, Jim sinks down and hunches his shoulders in comfort with the mug of tea steaming on his chest between both hands. 

"Will you really mail his letter?" Spock finds that tradition rather wasteful and ridiculous, for there cannot possibly be a place with the address of simply The North Pole where these letters get delivered. And if there is, it must be rather annoying to anyone who may live there. 

"Of course not," Jim says softly, soft enough that David couldn't possibly overhear, "I'll keep it in the glove compartment of the truck until after Christmas. Maybe I'll save it and make a scrapbook out of it someday. He might get a kick out of some of the things he asked for from Santa when he grows up." He says with a short chuckle that almost makes Spock smile. It is rather sentimental, but it seems just like James to be so protective of what children deem magical secrets and wonders. 

"Or perhaps upset you did not hold to your word for so many years." Spock says with an amused glint in his brown eyes that Jim returns just as David comes back downstairs and hands him his communicator over the back of the sofa. 

"Why don't you get all warmed up by the fire and maybe you can convince Spock to take you back outside a little later, alright?" Jim says as he sits up, and as Jim flips open his personal com-unit, Spock stops him with a quiet word. 

"Wait." Spock pauses, not really sure how to proceed through the thoughts he had had the night before and ever since the harrowing night David had leaped up into his grasp and out of the clutches of what he deemed a dangerous witch on Halloween night. Jim looks up at him in expectant uncertainty. "You...do not need to call upon your neighbor to look after David tonight."

"What makes you say that...?" Jim says, straightening up a fraction, though a hint of a smile is beginning to form across his lips as he regards Spock.

"I will look after the child in your absence. There is no reason to disturb the elderly woman into walking or driving through the snow simply to put David to bed. I believe I am capable of doing so myself." Spock knows David is watching him with a long and hard stare, but so is Jim, and he finds it somewhat unnerving to be the object of their close scrutiny. "If that is alright with you." He amends softly. 

"Uh, yeah," Jim says, a little too loudly, breaking the odd spell over them. "If you wouldn't mind, that would be great. I know Mrs. Harper well enough, but I can't help but feel guilty asking her to do this almost every night, week after week." Closing his com-unit, Jim places it in his pocket as he stands, rounding the sofa to go upstairs and change into his work clothes. He pauses with his hand on the banister. "Thanks Spock," Jim says, his gaze lingering over his Vulcan friend a moment longer than strictly necessary before he takes himself upstairs to his room, closing the door behind him. 

"Will you read to me too, like Dad and Mrs. Harper?" David asks solemnly from his spot on the stone edge of the fireplace. 

"If that is what you wish, then I shall," Spock says and it seems to be the right answer, for David beams at him. 

 

Jim leaves them alone a half hour later, with a backward glance and instructions to Spock to not let David spend too much time outside, since he'll still have school for another two and a half weeks before he's off for Thanksgiving break and he doesn't want his son to catch a cold in the meantime. He also assures Spock that if anything should go wrong, he should call Jim on his communicator, pointing out his number magnetized to the front of the refrigerator, which he had left originally for Mrs. Harper in case of need. He seems to linger, but not nervously, before finally grabbing up his keys, ruffling David's hair, and giving him a brief kiss upon the forehead as his goodnight before leaving; the roaring engine of his truck making a small fissure of worry crop up in Spock's guts as he watches the truck, in chained up tires, trundle down the driveway at a slow and cautious pace. 

The truck is heavy and solid and Jim will most likely be safe, and Jim is used to driving in such conditions, having grown up in Riverside. But Spock cannot help but watch the tail-lights of the vehicle until they disappear around the bend in the main road, turning to find David gazing at him expectantly from across the living room. He already has his gloves and hat in hand, and Spock mentally steels himself to go back out into the cold snow. Because how could he tell David no with an expression of such hope in the child's eyes? 

"You need to get into the proper attire first, David." Spock says, in agreement that has David grinning and bounding off to the backdoor. Spock follows, if a little reluctantly. He had just attained a normal body temperature once again, after all, and going back outside would only chill him all over again. With a mental sigh, which he knew didn't really indicate weariness of David, but more a weariness of the weather, Spock plucks his own snow attire off the backs of dining chairs and tugs them back on again. He finds his hat and gloves; pulling those on just as David excitedly pulls the back door open to find their boots. Spock pulls Jims boots inside and sets them beside the door before stepping into his own and stooping to tie them. He helps David into his as the child sits on the lip of the threshold, pulling the child up into a standing position by the elbows and closing the back door behind them. Spock barely has time to turn before David is off again down the steps and into the disturbed patches of snow they had toiled through earlier that morning. 

"What shall we do?" Spock asks, his breath puffing out before him as he walks behind David. 

"Dad says there's an old sled in the barn! If we can find it, we can sled down the hill!" David exclaims, with the child-like brilliance of joy on his flushed face, taking off towards the barn and leaving Spock to follow at a normal pace. 

When Spock reaches the barn, it's to find David already inside; the heavy door pushed open just enough to let the small child through. Spock presses it aside easily enough, allowing light from the open doorway into the recesses of the structure. He sees a few empty horse stalls and stacks of hay. A loft with a ladder extended rises above to the rafters and he sees movement towards the back where David is rummaging under some tarps. "Where is it?" David mutters in a fit of passion. Spock strides forward to help him search, eventually finding an old metal and wood sled with the words 'Lightening Glider' emblazoned in red along the seat. Spock picks it up, since it is too heavy for David to carry, when they both stop, having heard the same noise, he assumes. 

"What's that...?" David inquires, pulling his hat off to hear better and half turning around to look about the darkened barn. "Did you hear that too, Mr. Spock?" 

"I did," Spock says, propping the sled up against the wall of the barn and pulling his gloves off one at a time. "It sounds like an animal's cry." 

"It sounds like it's over here," David says, wandering over towards the stacks of old hay pressed up against the edges of the barn. Spock follows, reacting quickly when David pulls at a bale of hay to pry it away from the side of the barn wall, nearly toppling the stack on himself until Spock steadies it above him. 

"Be careful." Spock admonishes softly, but there is no sharpness to his words that make David feel apologetic, and besides...the child is distracted by the mewling noises weakly emanating from behind the stack of hay they had disturbed. Spock carefully edges it further out from the wall so as not to disturb the bales stacked atop of it, and David crawls forward on his hands and knees, peering into the dark behind the hay bale and gasping when he sees the culprit of these tiny noises.

"Spoooock!" He says in excitement, "It's a kitty cat!" David slides his small hands in between the hay bales, drawing out the thin and malnourished body of a feline and curling its shaking form into the scoop of his arms. Standing, David tilts his face up to Spock with a pleading look, "Can we take him inside? He's so cold..." 

Hesitating, Spock straightens up and considers his options. Knowing the expanse of Jim's allergies and their range by intensity, he knows Jim probably didn't have any animals in the house for a reason. But with the look of pity and want in David's blue eyes, so much like his father's, Spock cannot tell David to put the kitten back, not when it's so obvious to them both that the cat really shouldn't be out here in this weather. So he nods after a while, causing David to visibly relax in what must be relief. 

They take the kitten back to the farmhouse and Spock gets a better look at the thing when David hands it off to him in order to remove his boots before going indoors. The kitten is extremely thin and very tiny, a runt of a litter most likely; it's eyes barely open in weariness that concerns Spock. What if he had just let David claim a cat that would die eventually due to malnourishment and from being out in the cold for too long? After all, the child knew of death, had lost his mother at such a young age; but would it be more harmful to let him care for such a small animal, only to have it die despite his efforts? Glancing towards the number posted to the refrigerator, he considers giving James a call and asking his opinion. But David is already taking the kitten into the living room towards the flickering fireplace. 

Sighing, Spock peels off his snow clothes once again and follows David, "I will hold the kitten so you might remove your snow clothes, David," Spock directs, taking the cat from David where he is sitting before the fireplace, in hopes of warming the tiny creature. With David in the dining room, Spock gives the cat a more thorough once over. He is no veterinarian, but by the weakness in the kitten's form and the unfocused nature of its eyes, he can only judge the cat is not too well at all. He can also tell that it is female, running his bare hand over its damp and matted grey and black striped fur until it weakly mewls at him. 

When David returns, hovering over Spock's shoulder to look at the kitten, Spock asks him, "Do you or your father have a desk lamp that grows warm?" David thinks for a moment before nodding. "If you retrieve it, we can create a small bed for the kitten to rest upon while we find something to feed it." With David distracted again, Spock takes the kitten upstairs with him to his room to find his PADD, bringing up an informational web browser and looking up the care needed for a young kitten. What he finds is helpful, but only if he has everything they might need and in the end. He leaves the kitten with David in the living room with the lamp plugged in and resting on the coffee table while he goes in search of a large cardboard box. He finds one down in the basement, most-likely left over from Jim and David's move from San Francisco to Riverside. 

Next, he rummages through the bathroom cupboards and ends up finding a flat rubber water bottle beneath the sink, filling it with hot water. David runs upstairs to tug his child's blanket off his bed, returning to pad the inside of the box with it and covering the hot water bottle as well. They position the lamp over one corner of the box and place the kitten under it, bathing it in warm light from above and warmth from beneath. It is so weak it does not move, even when David reaches down to pet it gently with one finger along its head. "Keep a close watch on her, David," Spock says softly, returning to his PADD for more information. 

In the end, he has to search through Jim's cabinets in the kitchen to find ingredients for a milk replacement for the kitten. He finds a can of evaporated milk, an egg from the fridge, and an unused bottle of corn syrup. He mixes these ingredients carefully, warming them to a little above room temperature in a water bath upon the stove, a ceramic cup in the center of the pan. He's still trying to figure out what to feed it to the kitten with when David comes into the kitchen with a wide-eyed expression on his face. 

"Mr. Spock...where is its mother?" 

Slowly, Spock puts down the medicine bottle from a cabinet he had been considering, the kind with the old fashioned eye-dropper in its cap. Would it be a good idea to tell David the truth? Perhaps it would be too harsh. But how else does a child learn the facts of life? "You understand that cats have entire litters of kittens, correct?" Spock begins, unscrewing the eye-dropper from the bottle and prying the rubber part off the top so he can wash each piece thoroughly in hot water at the sink. 

"Yeah, lots of kittens at once, right? So where are the rest of them?" David asks, confused and a little sad. 

"Well, when a mother cat has a litter, often times, there is one kitten that does not receive as much nutrition as the rest of its brothers and sisters. It is called the runt of the litter and often times it is weak and physically unwell. Rather than waste milk on caring for such a kitten, the mother will take the stronger kittens with her and abandon the runt. That is how things occur in the course of nature. However, cats that are bred for their kittens in a controlled environment will ignore the runt and humans will care for the runt so it survives." Spock can't begin to know how much David might understand of his explanation, but he sees David nod slowly, looking at the floor between his feet and shifting back and forth in some manner of discomfort. 

"Mr. Spock...?" David begins, sounding hesitant and so very small, his voice so tense and raw that Spock stops his washing up in the sink and turns to give him his full attention, noting the discomfort across David's face. "Am I a runt too...?" 

Understanding dawns on Spock like a slap to the face, and the Vulcan shuts the water off in the sink and dries his hands haphazardly on a towel, tossing it aside so he can stoop down to David's level to meet David's downcast eyes. "No, you're not." Spock says firmly, arms braced against his legs as he crouches there in front of David, head tipped to the side to hold the child's gaze, "Your mother did not abandon you, and I am sure she would have stayed if she could have. But you're not a runt, you have James and he would never abandon you either. You're strong and healthy and growing with the best care possible from your father." 

Watching his words sink into David is a process he has never seen in another human being before. David's expressions range from pain, to understanding, to sorrow, and eventually to relieved acceptance that has him moving to wrap his small arms around Spock's neck and lean his weight into him. The embrace hadn't exactly been expected, but Spock does not pull away, raising a hand instead to rest against David's back until the child pulls away, wiping a rough hand over his eyes and giving one long sniff to ward off any 'unmanly' emotions he had been expressing earlier. 

"Thanks Mr. Spock..." David says softly, raising his head with a firmness in his eyes that hadn't been there before and Spock attributes to his earlier words. He is relieved as he watches David go back into the living room, having defused that potentially terrible instance of emotional erosion before it had had a chance to start. 

Taking the heated milk concoction from the sauce pan on the stove, Spock takes the assembled eye-dropper with him back into the living room and sits cross legged beside the box with David standing next to him, both of them peering into the make-shift bed and home they had created for the kitten. "We need to feed her." Gently reaching into the box, Spock picks up the kitten, now dry and somewhat warmer, resting the animal along the line of his forearm with its tiny head positioned in his hand; the paws twitching and straining in confusion at them both as Spock dips the dropper into the milky liquid and brings the glass tip to the animal's mouth. He manages to poke the end into the mouth and the creature stops its weak struggling when he slowly depresses the rubber stopper at the end, sending warm milk into the kitten's mouth to dribble out the corners messily as it begins to greedily swallow. 

Spock does this a few more times before David impatiently asks, "Can I do it too?" With careful instruction to David, Spock lets the child have a try at feeding the cat, and he does well enough until Spock glances into the cup and judges they have fed the animal enough for the time being. "We can feed her again in another hour, alright?" Spock says, placing the kitten back into her box and drawing a corner of David's blanket over the creature to keep her warm. David stays nearby, peering into the box to watch the kitten rest while Spock cleans up the slight mess they had made on the coffee table, placing the left over milk concoction in the fridge for later, with the stopper in it still. 

Back in the living room, David doesn't move far from the box for a time, and Spock spends a while on the sofa warming up himself, with his PADD on his knee and the sofa blanket draped across his lap. Eventually, David joins him there and asks him softly if he can watch a program, which Spock allows, and they pass an hour before feeding time comes around again. The kitten is still weak and doesn't move much aside from twitching in her sleep and mewling in protest to being picked up or moved in any fashion. David does most of the second feeding, with Spock holding the animal steady in his hands. 

By the time they finish Spock decides it's time to feed the human child and so they retire to the kitchen with David watching Spock put together a meal of sliced apples with an almond butter over them, which David assures him he can have and isn't allergic to; a cup of soup warmed on the stove from a can Spock opens at David's suggestion; and a slice of buttered toast. When David finishes, he and Spock check on the kitten again before going upstairs together. Spock turns on the taps in the bath tub for David and finds him a clean and dry towel from the linen cabinet. David already has his shirt off and his long-johns unbuttoned by the time Spock returns with the towel and he asks for his bath toys from under the sink before Spock leaves him to it, returning downstairs for a while. 

David returns to the living room in a pair of single-piece pajamas resembling that of the long-johns a while later and climbs up onto the sofa with a piece of paper, a pencil, and a book obviously from his book shelf, if the childish title is anything to go by. He sets the book on his lap with the paper on top and bites idly on the wood of the pencil as he thinks, finally looking up at Spock and kicking his legs about over the edge of the sofa cushions, "Mr. Spock, will you help me write a letter to Santa?" 

Blinking, Spock hadn't exactly been expecting this request, but he supposed at David's age, he really couldn't write more than his name probably. "How should it begin?" Spock asks idly, taking the pencil and paper and feeling mildly silly as he writes down upon request: 'Dear Santa Claus'. From there he writes down the things David asks him to put, including a short and somewhat edited version of how good David thinks he has been this year and why he should get a lot of presents. Then, he writes down every single gift the child describes, even some he is pretty sure don't really exist; knowing that later Jim will be the one to read this missive and probably laugh, knowing Spock has had to write the whole thing out. 

He ends it in the child's farewell and holds the pencil out to David so the child can scrawl in his jagged handwriting his own name, sans the letter 'i' until Spock points it out and watches David try to squeeze the missing letter in between the letters 'v' and 'd'. Folding it up, Spock places it on the coffee table next to the kitten's box and checks the time. "I believe it is bed time," He states, for which he gets a soft groan, but David obeys readily enough, looking into the box at the kitten. 

"It's okay if the kitten keeps my blanket tonight; she needs it more than I do." He states with a brave little nod as he marches up the stairs ahead of Spock, the Vulcan in tow to the child's bedroom. Climbing into his bed, David snuggles down under his blankets as Spock turns on the lamp beside his bed and turns towards the small book shelf by the window. "What has Jim been reading to you?" He asks, bending at the waist to skim his eyes over the titles. 

"He said he was going to read 'Where the Wild Things Are' to me next. It's in the library bag over there," David directs from his spot on the bed and Spock retrieves said book with a glance at its unique cover. It is short enough and Spock figures he can read the whole thing to David before leaving him to rest, so he sits on the edge of the bed next to David, shifting when the child indicates he wishes to see the pictures as he reads, so his back rests against the wall and he has one leg up along the length of the bed next to David as the child sits up next to him and peers over his arm at the pages. 

When he finishes reading, Spock sets the book on the nightstand and moves to get up, pausing when David sets a hand on his arm and clamors to his knees on the bed to slide his arms around Spock once again in another embrace. Spock stills, feeling a soft wave of contentedness from the child before David pulls away, "G'night Mr. Spock, don't let the kitten get hungry again, okay?" He asks earnestly to which Spock agrees.

"Good night David, sleep well." Turning out the lamp, Spock uses the light from the hallway to make his way across the room, closing the door part way as he had seen Jim do the past few weeks and returning downstairs to check on his other charge. He sits after re-stoking the fire in the hearth, reflecting back on the day. He hadn't known how easy, or how difficult for that matter--it would be to look after David. The whole incident over the kitten had been unexpected, but he felt he had handled it rather well, but only time would tell, and Jim's reaction would be a good indicator for how he had handled today. 

He fed the kitten another two times before James returned from work, looking bone-weary and cold, stamping his feet on the rug inside the door when he comes into the house and closing the door behind himself. Spock remains where he is with the kitten positioned on his chest as he sits reclined into the sofa, his head on the armrest and the blanket half draped over his lap with his data PADD in one hand. He had considered the best way to show Jim the new addition to his family and had decided that perhaps keeping the kitten in close proximity, rather than letting her be discovered in her box, would be a smarter way of breaking down some defenses in Jim's possible right to refuse. 

When Jim finally rounds the corner into the living room and finds Spock on the sofa, he is still pulling off his snow-flecked jacket, muttering in a tired voice, "It's snowing again out there; we might get a foot by morning at this rate." He grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck, looking sore, "I might have to shovel a path for us to the drive way if it gets that deep." Then he notices the box and lamp set up on the coffee table, frowning quizzically and asking, "What's that for?" 

Slowly, Spock lowers the PADD which had been obscuring Jim’s field of view few, thus revealing the tight ball of fur curled on his chest, the kitten now looking dry and warm yet still too small and lean to be healthy. Jim's expressions range through shock to weariness as he sighs and leans his hip into the back of the sofa to get a better look at the creature on Spock's chest. "Where did you guys get that...?" He asks in a defeated tone, "you should know from the last time we ran into that furry species last year that I'm allergic to animals that don't have scales or feathers." 

Spock sets his PADD down on the coffee table within his reach and slowly sits up, dislodging the kitten and causing it to give a startled mew at the change in position. Spock cups his hands under the creature, moving it to his lap upon the blanket as Jim rounds the sofa and sits on the far end from Spock, keeping a wary distance between himself and the cat. "She was out in the barn and David found her amongst the hay. She is an obvious runt of a litter, abandoned by her mother, as cats are wont to do. She is extremely malnourished, but is doing better than when we found her this afternoon." 

"'Her'?" Jim reiterates, brows raised. "So you figured out its female, great. I take it David is emotionally attached already?" Sighing, he rubs a hand over his brow and down over his face, seemingly frustrated and yet wearily resigned. 

"I am uncertain of his level of attachment, though he did ask me if we might look after the creature so it may live comfortably. Though, I do believe he is aware of its possible future demise. Your son is rather mature for a five year-old." Spock smooths two fingers over the kitten's head, making it mew softly, barely a squeak in reply. 

"He's almost six...as I'm sure he'd remind you if he were down here. Christ," Jim sighs again, increasingly heavier every time he does so, "What are the chances she'll die just because she was neglected for so long?" 

Spock takes a moment to calculate the possibility in comparison to the kitten's slow progress that evening and eventually says, "The kitten's survival rate is at about 0.837% at this time. Higher than it was earlier this afternoon, I might add."

"Great so...still not that great, but better than fifty-fifty, I suppose. I guess it was better you didn't just leave the kitten out there, I think that would have been more traumatic for David than what could happen in a day or two at this point. If the kitten dies, that is," Jim says softly, looking down at the lump of fluff Spock is still shifting in his long-fingered hands. "What have you been feeding her?" 

"A mixture of evaporated milk, egg white, and corn syrup." Spock replies, "though I am told through various informational forums that a pet supply shop or feed store may provide a kitten milk replacement." 

"Right..." Jim nods slowly, stretching his legs out with a sigh under the coffee table, "Anything else happen this evening I should know about? David have some mysterious tattoo or something now?" He chuckles at the very serious look he gets from Spock, "Not saying that I didn't trust you to look after David. I don't trust my own kid, is all. Not when I know what he's capable of," Jim mutters, running a hand through his hair. 

"David is well and has been asleep for three hours and forty-seven minutes. I read to him from a book called 'Where the Wild Things Are', an interesting child's tale." Leaning back against the arm of the couch, Spock folds his legs in under the blanket, giving Jim some room on the sofa, though he receives an odd look for it; one he cannot accurately translate into meaning. "He showed some minor distress this afternoon when he made a comparison between himself and the abandoned kitten..." 

Jim's eyes seem to grow immediately intense with interest at this information and he turns his head abruptly to look at Spock, looking him over carefully from his spot on the sofa, "Oh yeah? How did that go then?" 

"I believe I must have said the right thing, for it averted an emotional crisis I was sure was imminent." Spock says with a small lift of his shoulders; Vulcans didn't shrug, but he was not always aware he did it, a habit he no doubt picked up from Jim while aboard the Enterprise. 

"Well that's good," Jim says slowly, "and no nightmares then? You haven't heard him stir up there?" 

"Not in the slightest, no." Spock says, watching attentively as the kitten manages to get her small legs under her and take a few wobbling steps through the uneven terrain of the couch blanket.

"Good. That's...good. Thanks, Spock, really." Jim swallows, his long stare directed towards the flames banked in the hearth, the grate set to keep the sparks from escaping, "For everything. For staying and helping me out here, you really have made things easy around here. I was thinking last night," he lets out a soft snort that Spock cannot determine whether it is out of amusement or derision, "thinking about how it was before you showed up in October. It felt like every day was a scramble to get things done, to get him on track for school and keep him on a schedule. Routine is good for kids, or so I'm told, and you know me..." Jim trails off, murmuring softly with a tired wave of his hand at himself, "The least organized person there is. I mean, he's got his after school activities, home work, regular meals and snacks, nap times and play times and questions and- ...Christ, sorry." Jim waves a hand again and wipes it over his mouth and chin, emitting the rasping sound of scruff from under his touch. 

After a pause, he continues, "I guess I never thought how hard it would be, being a single parent. Really, you've been great. Sometimes I think I should be paying you to be a nanny or something. I forget you've got a ship to go back to in the New Year." Pushing himself up onto his feet again, Jim casts him a tight smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, and Spock doesn't know what to say, watching him grab his coat up off the back of the sofa and sling it over his shoulder, "Goodnight Spock, stay warm tonight, okay?" The concern is enough to make Spock smile a little, watching Jim retreat up the stairs until all he has are the sounds of Jim's footsteps above him, shuffling quietly around as he gets ready for bed. 

In a way, Jim hasn't changed at all; still exhibiting the no-nonsense restraint he had acquired in his time spent captaining the Starship Enterprise. But in a lot of other ways, Jim is nothing like the man he had known before. Instead of his constant push for better results, his heroism and his reaching for the stars, Jim has become a steady constant in the life of another person. He exhibits a greater capacity for compassion and understanding, expresses himself more openly, almost as if he has no other person to talk to but Spock. In some ways, Spock has learned more about Jim in these past weeks than he had in the whole time he spent under Jim's captaincy. He doesn't quite know what to make of that information just yet, or whether it changes any stance of his own when it comes to how he may react to James T. Kirk.

One thing he does know is that here, he is comfortable. In a small farmhouse in Iowa, surrounded by snow and domesticity, a life he had never thought he would fit into in any way, shape or form; Spock is settled. The kitten stirs in his lap, suckling idly at the soft wool of the blanket in an effort to self-soothe and Spock settles into the sofa cushions for the night, his hand resting idly against the kitten's curled back as he looks up at the ceiling, listening to Jim's footsteps fall silent upstairs and thinking about how he might disrupt this small family when it comes time to leave and hoping that when he does say goodbye...it won't be forever.


	7. Your Blood and My Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After days of peace in the Kirk household, one night turns long as Spock faces two tall cliffs he never thought himself capable of overcoming. Change is in the air...can you feel it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it's me! With another update, at long last.  
> Thank you so much, to all of you who have stuck around and motivated me to make this story into something great. I'm grateful for all the feedback and suggestions I've gotten, they are very much appreciated.  
> If you might be wondering what I wrote this chapter to, I write all my chapters to a playlist on Youtube entitled '4 Hours Of The Best Epic Inspirational Music' by 'Complete Instrumental'. If you're a writer and need music without vocals, this is the best playlist I've found to boost my creativity. 
> 
> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to all of you, the readers who have made it this far. =] Ta!

The next few days herald more snow and more routine as the weekend comes to a close and David returns to school for the week. Jim wakes a short while after Spock and David do most mornings and finishes getting his child ready for the day before driving him to school in the truck. Spock had offered the use of the rental vehicle Starfleet had provided for him, since it maneuvered better in harsher weather conditions with the automatic piloting on, but Jim had declined. Jim had Monday off so both he and Spock spent the day reminiscing about their time together on the Enterprise while Jim tidied up the house from a week’s worth of putting it off. Spock had offered to help, but Jim had only kept insisting that he was supposed to be a guest and was doing far more for he and David than he ought to be anyway. 

The kitten, now aptly named Snowy by David, had also progressed over the course of a few days; continuing to eat every few hours with Spock's assistance and under Jim's wary eye. Jim had been reluctant at first, which was to be expected, being allergic to animals like Snowy, but after noting the rate of the kitten's recovery and Spock's better prognosis for the tiny thing, he seemed to accept that the Kirk household now owned and cared for a cat. David had been thrilled when Spock had mentioned the pet's increasing health and had sat by the coffee table one whole afternoon with a bit of string amusing Snowy. She didn't seem to be bothered by David, with his loud running feet and busy petting hands. Her favorite place in recent days was curling up in David's lap on the sofa after a feeding while the child watched television. All-in-all, things were quiet in the farmhouse, which should have been Spock's first clue as to how this day would go, Kirks were not quiet creatures by nature. 

It is a Thursday evening when Jim readies himself for another shift at the tavern in town, shrugging into his jacket and wrapping his scarf tightly around his neck; the truck already running outside to warm up and defrost a little. He reaches for David, standing on the third step of the stairs from the bottom, pulling him up into his arms and balancing the child on his hip while he turns to Spock in farewell. "Alright, I've got to go." He always seems a little rueful when he leaves, Spock notices, but he does not mention it, "there are some leftovers from our dinner the other night in the fridge that David can eat for dinner. Don't let him stay in the bath longer than a half hour; he'll just use it as an excuse to stay up longer you know." Setting David back down on the floor again, Jim bends forward to run his fingers through his child's unruly blonde hair, pressing a brief kiss to his forehead, "You be good okay." Spock knows this isn't directed at him, but he watches anyway as David nods and wishes his father a good night.

Locking up behind Jim, Spock turns to regard David, who is lingering in the foyer, peering out the narrow window by the door until Jim's tail-lights disappear down the long driveway. Spock slides his fingers behind David's shoulder, urging him back into the living room, as he has done for the past few days; David's homework awaiting him in his small backpack leaning up against the leg of the living room coffee table. The kitten's box has been moved from the table to the floor beside the couch after Spock had noticed how David likes to peer inside, figuring this vantage point would be easier for the child. It's an odd concept, reminding David to do his homework, a Vulcan child such as he had once been would have known to do it right away and not put it off. It seemed most humans were reluctant to do something they considered a chore. 

With David's worksheets spread out in a line across the coffee table, Spock finds he only really has to help him with the math sheet. He eyes the printed fish at the top of the page with some dubiousness, thinking no wonder children were often so distracted; teachers at Earth schools seemed to find it necessary to decorate each assigned sheet of work with some kind of picture or sticker. Just as he has begun to help David with his phonics, his communicator, on the end table next to him, goes off. Reaching absently for it, he finishes explaining what three pictures of a fan, a fish, and a fork all have in common that a picture of a duck does not have before and stepping into the kitchen to answer the call. 

"Spock here." He says curtly, opening the fridge as the transmission connects and a gruff voice on the other end of the line speaks. 

"Spock, where the hell have you been?" Dr. McCoy's irritated brogue gives Spock a moment’s pause, and he is thankful that at least Jim was not present, in case he might have to speak candidly to the doctor.

Switching his communicator to its private call setting, he brings it to his ear and cradles it against his shoulder, reaching back into the fridge for a bowl of last night's dinner, already set aside for David, "I am residing in Iowa, as you were aware Doctor." 

"Oh, cut the bull-crap. If you're still in Iowa, that means you're with Jim by now, right? It's been weeks, and I told you to call me when you’d had a chance to talk to Jim." Dr. McCoy sounds far more agitated than Spock would deem appropriate, but then again, he usually is more emotional than is called for, and Spock doesn't take any measure of offense at his address. Pulling plastic wrap off the bowl of stew for David, Spock checks the bottom of the bowl to make sure it is microwavable before placing it in the machine and punching buttons to get it started. 

"If you remember, I never agreed that I would notify you once I had reunited with Jim." It is true, the argument had been entirely one sided, with the Doctor forcing an agreement on him that he had never accepted. Spock hadn't known what he would find once he met with Jim again, but he had wanted to be sure he could keep Jim's life private if it had been required. In the end, the truth hadn't been as terrible as everyone on the ship had been speculating it might be. 

"You lyin' sack of…. Christ, whatever Spock. Just...is he okay? It's not some incurable disease, right?" Spock can hear an odd rasping on the other end of the transmission and he assumes it is the sound of Dr. McCoy scraping his hand over the stubble on his face. The doctor never seems to find it necessary to keep with Starfleet regulations in regard to facial hair when he is on shore leave, a habit Spock will never begin to understand. 

"He is well, though I believe he is not well-rested, which is to be expected." Given the circumstances, he isn't surprised that James doesn't seem to sleep very well. 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Spock? Spit it out already, you must know by now why he left Starfleet." His accent gets deeper the more time he spends in Georgia with his daughter and proportionate to the rate in which his level of patience decreases. 

Sighing, Spock takes the soup out of the microwave and stirs it, replacing it for another two minute cycle and leaning back against the counter top, deliberating. He could tell Dr. McCoy the truth; he was one of Jim's closest friends and confidants on the ship while Jim had been the Captain. But he remembered the conversation they had had about Jim's reasons for not telling anyone, and he had gotten the feeling that there had been no exceptions to those until he had come knocking on Jim's door. Would Jim expect him to keep the truth to himself for the rest of his days? Surely he was only being overprotective as a new parent. The bridge crew Jim had known and befriended a little over two years ago were considered the best in the fleet at this point, competent and loyal people who would not give up information about James, even under duress. Did Jim consider his own friends too much of a risk? 

"Spock? Spock...you there?" McCoy's voice comes louder over the communicator, causing Spock to draw it away from his ear with a slight twitch of annoyance. The Doctor could bring out the worst in him sometimes, but he was a 'damn good CMO', as Jim would have put it and so Spock put up with his temperament for the sake of the crew. 

"Yes, Doctor." Spock pulls the soup out of the microwave for the last time, setting it on the counter and turning to pull a slice of sourdough bread out of the bread keeper to accompany David's meal. 

"Yes what, are you going to answer me or not, you stallin' green-blooded, pointy-eared hobgoblin? Or am I just going to have to come up there to Iowa and kick that prim ass of yours?" The more colorful he got, the more weary Spock felt as he began to see the limits of his options here. If he refused any kind of information to the Doctor, he didn't doubt that McCoy would make the trek to Iowa; partly out of spite, mostly out of that 'good ol' fashioned' worry of his, and entirely for his own satisfaction. On the other hand, if he told the Doctor, would Jim hold his actions against him and be angry? Angry enough to ask him to leave? "Christ, it's like pullin' teeth out of a wild sehlat, Spock!" 

"It isn't disease, as some have guessed." Spock says finally, making Dr. McCoy sigh, and probably twitch with annoyance, at Spock's slow approach to the topic. "He left Starfleet for reasons not benefiting himself, at least not wholly so." Spock doesn't take any cruel satisfaction in feeling the irritation on the other end of the com call; it would be undignified and illogical for him to act in such a manner. He is simply stating facts.

"So help me God, Spock. I'll come right up there and take those ears of yours and-" 

The doctor doesn't have a moment to finish that thought when Spock takes the plunge, against better judgement. "He left Starfleet to attend to his orphaned son." He speaks quietly, aware of the solitary figure in the living room; young ears most-likely within ear-shot of his words. 

There is such deep, space-dead silence on the other end of the transmission that Spock has to pull his transceiver away from his ear in order to be assured of its continuing operation. "Doctor?" He prompts after a while, long enough to spread a sweet jam over David's piece of bread. 

"Christ, I didn't think that I would have to explain to him how contraceptives work...he's damn lucky if it's taken him this long to get a girl knocked up with all his tom-cattin' around and all. Jesus," the religious platitudes only continue as McCoy speaks, "that poor woman, and he just left her behind to have that kid on her own then? Orphaned huh...?" 

Spock catches himself before he can roll his eyes towards the ceiling in exasperation, controlling his tone before speaking again, "Carol Marcus died a little over a year ago and the child was placed in foster care until Jim had made a decision about how to proceed." 

"Christ...so he left for," and here, Dr. McCoy sounds truly disbelieving, "his kid? He ditched Starfleet and everything he had worked hard for to take care of a child he had never met?" There is a low whistle on the other end and Spock understands the gesture as one often compared to that of shock and awe. "Never thought I would see the day, but Jim did the responsible thing. So uh, I take it he isn't comin' back then?" 

Arching a brow, Spock straightens his head, holding his communicator in one hand and setting the slice of bread down on a plate next to the bowl of soup. "No, I do not think that is an option at this time." Admiral Pike wasn't going to be pleased exactly, but when a child is involved, most harsh feelings are set aside. 

"How old is this junior Kirk kid?" Dr. McCoy asks, in a tone of voice that suggests he is shaking his head in denial. 

"He is five," Spock pulls down a glass from the cabinet and pours milk into it for David, sliding it across the counter to accompany the rest of the meal on the counter, "five and a half," he amends, with slight amusement twitching the corner of his mouth up. "David," he pulls the communicator away and turns it against his chest as he calls out to the child in the living room, "your dinner is ready." 

"Did I just hear you call that kid to dinner?" McCoy questions as Spock lifts the communicator to his ear again and narrows his eyes at what he reads into the Doctor's tone. "You all one big, happy family now? Jim even there?" The chuckle doesn't make Spock feel any better about what Leonard McCoy had just said. One big and happy family was just the thing he had been keeping from his mind for most of the week, refusing to let himself make those comparisons to how he and Jim had spun the daily routines to seem as such. Spock was up first in the morning and made David breakfast, Jim put together a lunch for the child while David dressed upstairs, and sometimes they took David to school together if there were errands to be done in town. Spock pursed his lips, knowing the longer he let this conversation with the Doctor go on, the more inferences the man was going to try and make. 'Making a mountain out of a mole hill', was one of the good Doctor's favorite phrases, one of many that made no sense whatsoever to the Vulcan. 

"I must end our call, Dr. McCoy; I have other things I must attend to. If there are any developments in my efforts to persuade Jim, I will let you know. Goodbye, Doctor." Spock can already hear the annoyed chatter on the other end of the transmission as he pulls away to end the call, but as he has satisfied the man's main question, the likelihood that he might call again in order to harass Spock is low. 

"Was that Daddy?" David asks as he comes into the kitchen, dragging a worksheet and pencil with him and setting them on the counter before climbing up into his seat at the kitchen island. Spock moves the paper and pencil further away from David's soup, sensing a disaster in the future and aborting it with preventative actions. 

"A friend of your fathers, and of mine." Returning to the fridge, Spock finds the bottle of refrigerated kitten replacement milk in the side door, shaking it to distribute the strange sediment at the bottom. They had picked up some bottles of the replacement milk at the local feed store when Jim had taken him there to find more suitable snow clothes for himself. 

"Is he gonna," David pauses to slurp his soup off the spoon, ceasing when Spock casts him a singular look that makes him politely change to better eating habits as his father had taught him, "is he gonna come visit you and Daddy?" 

"If we are lucky, no," Spock says dryly, which wins him a confused look from the child. "I am uncertain; would you like to meet him?" 

"Is he from the Enterprise?" David visibly brightens at this idea and Spock cannot deny him the truth. 

"He is my Chief Medical Officer on the ship, yes." 

"I'd LOVE to meet him!" David says excitedly, nearly ejecting a piece of carrot out of his mouth and back into his soup bowl in his energetic reply. Spock hands him a napkin from the tray next to him, watching David wipe his chin. 

"Perhaps your father may be persuaded to permit another visitor then. I believe your Terran holiday of this month is one meant for returning to family and celebrates the importance of community. To your father, his crew was his family..." He realizes it's true only after he's said these words. Jim had alluded to the fact on a few occasions before, calling Dr. Leonard 'Bones' McCoy his grumpy father, and Spock his brother, prone to 'showing off'. At the time, Spock had taken those comments for what he thought they were; a human male's natural impulse to insult his friends in a 'good-natured' manner. Perhaps he had been wrong, and that was truly how Jim treated those he considered to be his family. 

"You mean Fanksgiving?" David asks around a mouthful of sourdough bread. 

"Thanksgiving." Spock corrects out of habit. 

"Yeah! Everybody should come for Thanksgiving! That Bones guy Daddy talks about; that drunk guy; and the pretty lady, too. Everybody Dad talks about should come, it could be a surprise!" David says with enthusiasm that could cow a le-matya, making Spock's lips curl ever so slightly into a smile, brown eyes softening. 

"Your father has not seen his friends in quite some time." The child's idea is not a bad one. 

"I wanna meet Dad's friends!" And despite Spock's preventative measures, a glob of thick stew lands on a corner of David's worksheet, flipping off the end of the spoon he waves erratically with excitement before Spock can stop him. 

 

Later that night, after David has finished his homework, taken his bath, and had the story 'Good Night Moon' read to him by a fascinated Spock, the Vulcan- turned- babysitter returns to the living room and his communicator. He plans to make a few calls; it isn't too late to place transmissions to the few of his senior staff he know are vacationing not far from where he currently rests in Iowa. Uhura had plans to return to London, where her family is currently residing; Chekov and Sulu were staying in San Francisco, since Russia was too cold this time of year for Sulu and Sulu's family had currently migrated to Palm Springs to escape the winter of their own home town. Scotty was still in San Francisco as well, tending to the Enterprises' refit and probably bar-hopping in his free time; and Dr. McCoy was in Georgia spending quality time with his daughter, Johanna. 

Perhaps what he had done tonight would be forgiven if he 'ripped it off like a band-aid', as Jim would say. With all the bridge crew under one roof for a holiday humans associated with cheer and communion, Jim may find it difficult to become aggravated with him for finding it necessary to tell Dr. McCoy about the existence of David. He has just finished two calls; one to Scotty and the other to Uhura in London when Spock pauses his request for a third transmission, interrupted by a sound from upstairs. He reaches for the remote and turns the television set off, having found that the background noise puts the child to sleep much faster than without it. 

In the silence of the house, Spock can hear two things: the soft hush of snow falling outside again, and the soft cries of a human child upstairs. He is frozen for a second as he listens, his brain taking a moment too long to realize what he is beginning to hear. The warning had come so long ago from Jim and there hadn't been any issues until now that Spock had nearly forgotten the warning that David occasionally had nightmares. He has never been privy to one before and so he doesn't exactly know how to handle the situation as he pauses at the bottom of the stairs. Listening again, he wants to be sure he isn't mistaken before he moves upstairs and pauses at David's door, which is cracked open. There is no mistaking the soft, wet sounds of quiet sobbing in the dark room and Spock cannot help but frown as the sounds dig a pain deep into his psyche. He shakes off the feeling and knows he cannot let this continue, reaching out to brush David's door open softly. 

David is on his side facing away from the door, his shoulders shaking lightly under the blankets and his face half turned into his pillow. He is twitching minutely, evidence of a disturbed REM cycle. Spock can clearly see the lines of distress in David's body, the child tense and slowly writhing as if in the throes of weary agony and Spock reaches out to turn on the bedside lamp. Soft light illuminates the room, casting the twinkling outlines of stars across the walls. "David...?" He ventures softly, unsure if touching the child would be wise or if calling his name would offer the same effect. When he gets no response, Spock slowly reaches down and curls a hand over David's shoulder, feeling it tense and shake under his grasp and he gives it a squeeze he hopes seems reassuring. "David, wake up."

It happens in a violent shift, a whirl of blankets and a cry that breaks into more sobs when David twists around in his sheets towards him and comes awake. His eyes are watery and his cheeks streaked with drying tears. His hair sticks to his brow with sweat but his body is cold to the touch, and Spock falls into a crouch beside the bed so David won't have to squint through the light of the lamp in order to look up at him. "You were having a nightmare...what you were dreaming, it was not real David." Spock explains, but it seems explaining a nightmare to a child isn't all that effective, for more tears well up in David's eyes and Spock is chagrined to hear another sob choke the boy out of a breath of air. 

Sliding his hands under David's arms, Spock hauls him up from the bed with his blanket still tangled around him, dragging it from the bed like swaddling as he lifts the child into his arms to rest against his chest. David is so light and Spock is momentarily thrown again by how easy it is to heft his weight; he looks around the room for something that might aide him in soothing the child. He doesn't find much and instead walks from the room with David in tow, a corner of his bed sheet dragging behind them on the stairs. 

Back in the living room, Spock feels wet tears pressed against the side of his neck as David burrows himself tighter into him, seeking comfort through contact. Humans are such touch-dependent creatures and Spock can only go on estimates as to how to proceed as he takes to the sofa with David. The fire is still lit in the fireplace, warming the room better than any other room in the house and Snowy the kitten is curled up on a sofa pillow, full from her latest meal. She stretches her front paws out before her and yawns widely as Spock sits, positioning David across his lap wrapped in so much bed sheet that he looks like a head without a body. He is still sniffling but the sobbing has ceased, for which Spock is grateful, and he takes the edge of the sheet to lightly wipe at David's face to at least partially erase the evidence of his distress. 

"Can you rest if I remain nearby?" Spock questions, to which he gets a sullen nod in reply, David's eye lids are already heavy but his body still tense and wired from his nightmare. Spock cannot possibly guess what the boy had dreamt about, but it had been traumatic enough to make him shake, and Spock sets him on the sofa cushions between himself and Snowy, who lets out a tiny meow and ventures around David's sheet curiously. David seems comforted by the feline and so Spock doesn't move her, watching David drift between sleep and disturbed wakefulness at his side, his head resting on the cushion beside his leg and within reach. Spock can still feel the waves of fear and sadness rushing through David, but without skin-to-skin contact, the feeling is less intense and more easily dealt with. Snowy curls up in the half moon shape of David's supine curled-up body and Spock picks up his PADD from the nightstand, letting the moment pass so as not to further aggravate any bad memories David may be dwelling on. If the boy wishes to speak about the issue, he may. But Spock isn't going to ask because he wants the child to sleep again tonight. 

It takes the better part of an hour, but when Spock finally lets one hand comfortably rest on David's arm above the sheet, the trust seems to settle David, and he falls back into sleep. Spock leaves him for a long while and only gets up to move him when it is almost midnight. He is just coming back downstairs from putting David back into his own bed again when the front door opens, heralding a gust of frigid and snowy wind and a stumbling James. Spock blinks, controlling a shiver and reaching out to push the front door shut as Jim enters and stamps his feet against the rug. 

"Jesus, it's cold." Jim says, his words oddly lisped and Spock at first takes it to be from the cold, pulling Jim's coat off his shoulders and hooking it over the end of the banister to dry out somewhat. 

"The forecasts suggest we may see another four inches of snow by morning. At this rate, we may have to shovel our way out of the house to get to town this week." Spock says in jest, but his mood shifts dramatically when he turns to find Jim, standing with his arms around himself and shivering like someone naked in an ice storm. Spock can see Jim’s jaw is tightly clenched to keep his teeth from chattering, but it doesn't detract from the whole look of him and Spock's lips part in obvious dismay when he notes the cuts and bruises on Jim’s face and on the knuckles of Jim's right hand. A hard stone sinks in the center of Spock's stomach and he speaks before he can control the cold sharpness in his tone, "What has happened to you, Jim?" 

"It's nothing, Spock. Just a bit of a bang up, happens sometimes. You've seen me worse than this, c'mon..." Jim says dismissively, but he can't manage a smile and Spock can see weariness like a shadow in his blue eyes. 

"You engaged in a fight?" Spock asks, trying not to sound accusing. In their days together aboard the Enterprise, it is true that Jim started a lot of fights, but violence hadn't always been his go-to solution. In his defense, the outcome of those fights often did result in a victory that smoothed their way. But Jim wasn't Starfleet any longer, he didn't have any good reason to be getting into trouble here, especially with a child to consider. What would have happened to David if Jim had been seriously injured and required professional medical attention. 

"Happens sometimes..." Jim says slowly, his words a little slurred and Spock can see the reason why when Jim’s lower lip warms from the transition into the house, causing a split in his lip to re-open and send a bead of fresh blood crawling down towards his chin. "College kids are beginning to get home from university...it's usually pretty calm at the Tavern, Riverside folk aren't that entertaining, believe me." Jim turns away, either out of shame or because he is tired of standing in the foyer, Spock cannot determine. "But when the kids come home, they like to stir shit up at the bars sometimes; they get bored in such a small town..." Sighing, Jim flops down onto one end of the couch at one end, sending Snowy scrabbling away until Spock can capture her and place her in her box, well away from Jim and his allergy. 

"University students did this to you?" Spock queries, his frown deepening. "Why did you not call the authorities?" 

"They were just drunk Spock, got a little rough, I had to throw them out. Usually we have a stiff hanging around, some of the regulars are big guys too, they usually handle shit like that but it was a slow night, it was just me and Natalia for the evening and before we could close up, these guys come traipsing in from the bar across the street. Things got a little heated, I took a hit and things got a little ugly, that's all Spock. Really..." Jim looks up at him, blue eyes tired and willing him to not question him any longer. Spock gives him a long look and finally concedes, turning towards the stairs. 

"Where do you keep your first aid kit, Jim?" 

"My what?" Jim squints over his shoulder at him but his neck must hurt him too, for he can't quite make the full rotation. "Oh uh, under the sink in the bathroom." 

Spock returns a few moments later, opening up a small white kit with a red cross stuck to the front. Inside are just a few items, mostly primitive, and Spock wonders why Jim hadn't invested in a dermal re-generator, the smaller kind meant for civilian use, but he doesn't ask. Perhaps Jim hadn't had the time to think that far ahead before the move.

"You should see the other three guys..." Jim mutters sulkily and Spock can't help the slight smirk that comment drags out of him, brown eyes sparkling against his better judgement towards the realm of amusement. He squashes the expression before Jim can see him however, not wanting to encourage a man who is beyond incorrigible. 

"I am sure they are metaphorical pretzels..." Spock says softly as he sits on the sofa next to Jim, surveying the contents of the kit he has to work with. 

Jim is staring at him when he looks up and he arches a questioning brow, "Did you just crack a joke?" Jim asks, and Spock looks away, ripping open a pair of packaged disposable gloves and putting them on. 

"You seem to forget that you left me in the care of one metaphorically colorful Doctor, Jim." Spock casts him a glance, assured that he is causing amusement and not some other unsavory reaction, "I have had over a year to learn more than I had cared to in the beginning." 

Jim laughs, then winces when his lip stings, sending a fresh rivulet of blood down towards his chin, which he wipes with the back of his hand, making Spock frown at him. He uses an antiseptic wipe to dab at the blood on Jim's face and his former captain begrudgingly turns his face forward to give Spock easier access to his injuries. His eye is already beginning to purple and Spock wishes he had a dermal re-generator to spare Jim that soreness later. But one cannot make bricks without clay. 

"That's sort of funny though, Spock. You used to question and resent all of Bones' little idioms and such. You used to blatantly pretend you had no idea what he meant just to annoy him. But look at you, using them too now..." Jim grins. 

"I have no idea of what you speak." Spock says with perhaps a little too much innocence; it is enough to make Jim smile again and that is enough for him. 

Wincing, Jim subjects himself to Spock's diligent ministrations, letting Spock put a surgical glue over his lip to hold the folds of skin together while they heal, placing a piece of sticking plaster over it to protect it from bacteria for a while. The rest of the cuts on Jim's face are superficial and Spock deals with them soon enough. However, Jim's knuckles are a bloody mess; ragged and ripped across all four protruding bones, and Spock leaves him on the sofa long enough to find a bowl and ice; filling it with cold water from the tap so Jim can soak his hand for a while. With the bowl balanced on a sofa pillow at his hip, Jim rests his whole hand in the icy water with a pained hiss, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the edge of the sofa. 

"Why do you work at such a place, Jim?" Spock asks after a moment or two of silence, sitting with his back nested in the opposite corner of the couch, one leg resting comfortably over the other with an arm along the back edge of the sofa that puts Jim's head almost within reach of his fingers.

"Because no one else will take me at the moment. Believe me, I've been looking. I didn't exactly envision myself returning to bar-tending when I came back from Starfleet." Jim says humorlessly, his eyes fluttering open to gaze listlessly at the ceiling.

"And what of your Starfleet pension?" Spock questions, his frown returning, this time in confusion. 

"It's...complicated," Jim sighs. Sitting up, Jim rubs a hand over his brow with a wince, eyes screwed tightly shut. "It's tied up in some legality I haven't taken care of just yet. With David, it's hard to make any appointments with a lawyer. I guess, because I didn't serve a full five year term, I'm not entitled to a pension. Or at least, not one sizable enough that David and I could live off of. I mean, I don't have to pay any kind of rent at least; I technically own this house, it's in my name. But I have property tax to pay, David's school tuition fees, other common bills." Jim seems to deflate as he speaks and Spock begins to understand the gist of his plight. 

"Starfleet is denying you a pension that you have more than earned, based on an archaic system of service regulations?" Spock asks, just to be sure he had heard his old friend correctly. 

"Yeah, something like that..." Jim sighs, lifting his hand out of the melting ice water with a shiver. Spock holds out a dish towel towards him and he takes it, wrapping it around his hand gingerly. "So I took the first job that would hire me on the spot, I didn't have the luxury or time to wait around for something better. Riverside is a small town; most everyone who works here is either hired through connections and family, or are long-timers who have lived here their whole lives. It's hard to compete with someone who knows your competition by a first name basis, and doesn't know you from Pete or Sam." 

Spock falls silent again, turning towards the kit on the coffee table to pull on his gloves again, ripping open an anti-septic packet for Jim's knuckles. Is there something he could possibly do to alleviate this stress for Jim? He is a Captain in Starfleet, but he isn't sure how much sway his opinion may hold over something potentially based all on legalities. But perhaps if he spoke to Admiral Pike some strings could be pulled in Jim's favor. He would think about it more, later. 

For now, he could see the strain on Jim and it caused him to ask softly,” Do you regret leaving Starfleet?” as he reached out and began sealing up Jim's wounded knuckles. 

Jim is quiet so long Spock almost believes he won't answer, when finally he says, "Everyone has regrets...But I refuse to be like my dad or my step-father, for that matter. I won't be a quitter and I sure as hell am not going to be leaving my own kid in someone else's care. Not so that I can just go off gallivanting across the galaxy. That part of my life is over, Spock. I've accepted it, now I'm trying to move on." 

Unable to address Jim's abandoned dream, Spock fixes instead on another issue he had picked from that line of thought, "You believe that George Kirk Sr. regretted having you?" 

"No...I don't know. All I know is that he chose to be a hero rather than a father. I'm choosing to be a father rather than a hero." Jim mutters, running his uninjured hand over his face and back through his hair, blinking into the flickering flames in the hearth. He sounds conflicted and it shows in his expression as Spock bandages his hand, wrapping gauze around his knuckles front to back, glad for the very thin barrier of latex between his fingertips and Jim's. He would not wish to feel what Jim might be feeling right now, nor would he relish throwing his guards up against Jim. Jim's thoughts had never bothered him before; they had melded in the past during a crisis that had required it, but in those brief instances he had been in Jim's mind, he had felt calm, not repelled or repulsed. 

For all his humanity, Jim's thoughts were less like lashing wind in most cases, rather more like a whisper or a constant hum which Spock had grown used to in the time they had served together. Even without contact, Jim's presence was a note playing across his psyche he had never been able to quite figure out. Leaning away, Spock snaps the gloves off his hands and says, "Some children believe their fathers are heroes." David certainly does, he can see the adoration in the child's eyes, the trust that has grown between the two of them, despite their handicapped beginnings. 

"Heh...maybe. Heroes don't usually look like this though." Jim says numbly, waving a hand towards his face exuding exhaustion. "Not the kind that they make action figures out of, anyway." He scoffs lightly, making light of the situation. It causes Spock to drop the subject, making a mental note to pick it back up in the future when Jim is not so obviously drained. 

"Perhaps you should stay down here tonight, Jim. You have been thoroughly chilled by the weather." Standing, Spock opens the grate in the fireplace to feed the flames a second log, pulling his hand back before sparks can graze across his skin. 

"Thank you." Jim's voice is strained from behind his back and Spock straightens up, conflicted. What would he see if he were to turn around, what kind of expression matches that tone of Jim’s voice? The mirror above the mantel piece draws his gaze and Spock finds Jim in its reflection, sees the twitching muscle in his tensed jaw; the wordless explanation that passes between their locked gazes that sends a buzzing jolt of something down Spock's spine. 

Jim is the first to avert his gaze and release Spock, but Spock’s voice is roughened without reason when he makes his reply, "Of course...Jim." Spock swallows, his throat dry and making a clicking sound as he wets it. When he looks up again, Jim isn't where he had been on the sofa. Rather, he has risen from the cushions and stepped around the coffee table. He is mere inches away from Spock, his shoulders slumped and his hair in wild disarray from his fidgeting fingers earlier. The fidgeting is gone now, replaced with something solid. 

It's not just his friend Spock looks up at in the mirror, but his former Captain, and the look causes something to be satisfied inside him. He half turns, positioning his shoulder towards Jim as he meets him face-to-face with a question on his lips he doesn't have a voice for, when Jim reaches out and places a hand against his arm. Jim has touched him before, in passing or in moments of strife and worry aboard the Enterprise, and Spock had thought little of it. But for some reason, this instant of contact is more energizing than if he had touched a live wire in one of Lieutenant Scott's Jefferies tubes. It's all in his eyes, Spock realizes, as nothing is even said, but the pressure against his arm from Jim's hand increases with a mild squeeze that cuts Spock's line of thought in half. 

"I don't know how I'll ever repay you Spock." Jim murmurs, his hand sliding down to cup Spock's elbow, "You've made these some of the best weeks of my life, truly." He seems earnest and Spock doesn't question his statement, only watches this man with an openness he doesn't realize he has displayed, and so it is a shock when Jim steps into him; his arm sliding up behind Spock to draw him into a half embrace. Jim’s hair is damp from snow melt and Spock only has time to lift his hand towards Jim's shoulder before the man is drawing away with another squeeze and a light slap against Spock's bicep. The moment ends and Jim steps back, "Good night Spock." 

Leaving his former first officer standing before the fireplace in a state of bewilderment, Jim disappears up the stairs and Spock watches him go, murmuring long after he is out of ear shot, "Good night James." His brown eyes sweep the room slowly, falling to the open first aid kit on the coffee table. Moving on auto-pilot, he sweeps the refuse from his minor first aid administration into one hand and closes the kit with the other. He is in the kitchen, throwing away the gloves and the swabs, when he realizes what that brief look in Jim's eyes had been; before the man had broken eye contact. It had been a hopeless kind of longing, but a longing for what, Spock couldn't possibly begin to form a hypothesis on. He wasn't going to let himself try tonight either, not when sleep was still at least an hour away for him and David had school in the morning.

Briefly, as he changed and got ready for bed, he considered how seamlessly he had transitioned into this part of Jim's life from the former relationship that had been between them. Had Jim missed his company? A small part of him could openly admit that he had missed Jim's, even if he would generally use subterfuge to deny such a truth if confronted with it. Jim didn't need any more problems added to the plethora he already faced, especially a problem regarding Spock's less than platonic turns of thought lately. He had never seen himself as the 'rescuer type' or the kind of being who gained satisfaction by the simple act of feeling needed by another living being, but he could admit to himself that there was a chemical imbalance here that he could not explain to himself, or to anyone else for that matter. 

Perhaps, in time, he would be able to overcome this feeling of being drawn to Jim in such a fashion, but until then he would need to be more careful. The last thing he wanted was to push Jim away, not after he had been without his friendship for over a year. Not now that he had begun to build a sort of related friendship towards David. Caring is not an advantage, but in this he accepts that he has become disabled. It isn't a mortifying thought, as it should be, he thinks, as he lies down to sleep and pulls his blankets up as high as they might go to conserve body heat, the room already cooling several degrees below his comfort level. Instead, as he lays there and cycles through the necessary mental machinations that help him drift towards sleep, Spock accepts that at least in Jim and David's case, he has grown to prefer life here, and may indeed miss it all when it comes time to return to the Enterprise. But...such is duty, and perhaps...the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or in his case, the one.


	8. Lights in Our Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim, Spock, and David all venture out into the snowy cold on a Saturday evening to take a long drive and a satisfying stroll, and Jim gets the first best night of sleep he's ever had in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks! It's me with another update, and I enjoyed writing this one in particular. I've mentioned before how much I love the holidays and how they inspire me to put my fingers to the keys and write about the warm and fuzzies. One of my most favorite memories of Christmas as a kid was going to see the actual Shore Acres State Park nearly five hours away from my house. It was a long trek, but my grandparents lived in the small town of Coos Bay, OR; so we had a place to stay. 
> 
> I'm super excited to be able to share a small piece of my memories and happiness with you all, my readers, and I hope the joy and love of this place comes through in my writing to you. If you all enjoy this chapter, I've been thinking about writing a short ficlet in series with this work once it is finished, perhaps a story from mostly David's point of view as an older child going to visit this tiny Oregon town I have such fond memories of. Let me know what you think, and as always, thank you so much.

When Saturday morning rolls around, Jim is grateful he has the day off. He had worked the rest of the week at the bar, even when he received a bit of a judgmental look from Spock for it. He wasn't exactly annoyed, more embarrassed by Spock's disapproval, even though he knew it was only due to Spock's concern for his financial state at the moment. Jim didn't need to be telepathic to know Spock was somewhat righteously incensed about his former captain's pension plight. But Jim had already argued every point he could over the phone and even briefly in person with one of Starfleet's financial advisers. The look he had gotten the other night from his Vulcan friend when he admitted his pension had been withheld still cropped up in his mind every time he thought about the conversation they had had; Spock's nimble fingers tending to the minor wounds on his face and knuckles. 

Thinking about it now, Jim can't help but notice how his brain prefers to wander towards the other stupid mistake he had made that night. He wasn't even sure if Spock had noted anything unusual about his behavior. But Jim had felt the embarrassment of his slip up burning in his face, causing him to look away when Spock had met his eyes before the fire that night. The stress and exhaustion was beginning to get to him, he knew it was, and so he had been keeping a tight rein on his thoughts ever since he had noticed their less than socially acceptable tilt. It was all Spock's fault really; his fault for being good with David and being a considerate guest, but if Jim were being honest with himself, it was mainly how Spock interacted with David. 

If Jim was in a place to admit things openly, he would have to say his rebellious thoughts had begun to take shape an age ago, back on the Enterprise. He couldn't even remember when he had started looking at Spock as less of an adversary or competitor and as more of a colleague, but the situation had truly turned different when Spock had shown up at his door in October. The surprise had been one thing; his shock easily covered up by accusations and feigned annoyance, when in truth he had been sort of relieved and yet...also strangely guilty. 

Someone had bullied Spock into coming to inquire after him and instead of delegating the responsibility to someone lower than himself amongst the crew, Spock had come himself. Surely that was some kind of testament to the level of friendship they had before he departed from the Enterprise. Out of everyone on Jim's old bridge crew, Spock had been the least inquisitive and accusative. In a way, Jim couldn't envision anyone else visiting him, not after his sudden departure. People always found a way to take something personal, but Spock was different. Unless one’s intention was to insult Spock or attack him verbally or physically, he gave no reaction and often didn't even register the attempt. Spock was no fool, but he wasn't selfishly hard-wired either; the things he took offense at were more straight-forward, not steeped in the complexities of human emotion and social strivings. 

Shaking the lethargy from his mind, Jim looks up from where he has been bent over the sink with running water swirling down the drain for God only knows how long. He has a clean razor in his hand braced at the lip of the sink and he runs it under the tap one more time before straightening up. Running a hand over his smooth cheeks and chin, he is satisfied with the result and shuts the tap off. There are many electronic or laser type depilatory instruments on the market, but if Jim were to give his true opinion, nothing feels better or smoother than a fresh shave with some good old cream and straight edge disposable razor set. The cuts covered by plasters on his temple, cheek, and lip are fresh, since he replaced them every time he showered, but he considers doing away with them entirely since the cuts are scabbed over now. Plucking the plasters from his skin, he winces only a little when the one on his lip catches a bit at the tender skin around his sealed cut. 

Turning, Jim makes sure his bathrobe is wrapped tight and tied at his waist before stepping out into the hall, and for good reason too, because Spock is just emerging from his bedroom across the stairwell and they both look up at one another as they close their respective doors behind them. Spock doesn't say anything; he doesn't have to, because Jim's already thinking it. _'Here I am, in just a bathrobe and he looks all sleep mussed and what-not...could this be any more awkward?'._

"Morning..." He nods at Spock before passing him on his way to his bedroom, closing the door and leaning against it for a moment as his stupid remarks from the other night crowd back into his head. _'These have been some of the best weeks of my life'_ , who says things like that anyway? Apparently Jim does. But...he wasn't going to beat himself up for it, what was done was done and if there was some silver lining to that whole fuck up, it was that Spock hadn't deflected him or pushed him away. In fact, he had stared at Jim the whole time he had been speaking, and when he had embraced Spock, the Vulcan hadn't tensed or made any outward sign of rejection or discomfort. He wasn't letting himself read too much into that tiny offering, but a part of him could be satisfied that at least he hadn't ruined their friendship over some stupid blunder made in hazy judgement. 

Getting dressed in a warm sweater and a red and black flannel button down shirt, Jim is still buttoning his jeans when he makes for his bedroom door and crosses the hallway to David's bedroom door. The kid didn't usually sleep in this long on the weekends; it was the whole reason for the 'nap time' rule. But when he cracks the door open, he finds David awake and sitting up in his bed, his stuffed lion in one hand and one of his action figure toys in the other. It seems he has been entertaining himself rather than leaving the warmth of his bed for the morning. Jim didn't blame him; it had snowed another four inches the night before, placing the level of snow at the middle stair of their porch. 

"Are you ready to get up?" Jim asks, moving into the room and flipping on the light to dispel the winter gloom. David blinks up at him, squinting a little until his eyes can adjust better to the light. 

"Can I bring Lion?" He asks, holding up the stuffed creature he had brought along from Carols' house; or so Jim assumes since he hadn't bought the animal for him. 

"Of course you can. Your blanket too, it's not all that warm downstairs yet." Ducking back out into the hall, he is just passing out of the stairwell downstairs when he hears the shower turn on above him, as Spock tends to his own morning routine. 

"Daddy?" David soon comes trekking into the kitchen with Lion tucked up under one arm and his blanket half over his head and shoulders trailing behind him. 

"Yeah kiddo..." Jim responds absently, reaching into the cupboards to find David's cereal options and placing them out on the counter before turning to grab up utensils and bowls from their various places around the kitchen. 

"Jeremy at school says he doesn't have a chimney like we do," David squints, his nose crinkling a little, "So he doesn't think Santa is going to be able to find him this year. Can Santa, can Santa um... can he um," David pauses, his words trailing off as he climbs up into a bar-stool, concentration momentarily diverted by the physical activity before he can continue, "can he come into houses without chimneys?" 

Oh jeez, what had his brother said when he had asked something along these lines as a kid? Oh right, he had told Jim that Santa wasn't real and that he had nothing to worry about. Instead, Jim pours milk over cereal for David and passes the bowl towards him along with a spoon, "Well," what would be the most believable to a five year-old? "He can also come down a wood stove pipe if Jeremy has one of those. Or uh," Jim scrubs a hand through his damp hair, shaking some cereal out into a bowl for himself with the other hand, "he can make himself really small and squeeze in between doors and windows with your presents." 

David lifts his eyes from a bite of cereal to look at Jim in such a way that almost makes him think he hasn't fooled his five year-old child. Then it seems the shock has worn off and Jim witnesses the birth of a wide smile, "Really?" he breathes, shifting his bottom over his heels as he wriggles on his knees; always squirming. "Like Ant-Man then?" 

"Exactly like Ant-Man." Jim says, relieved there is a superhero David can relate the topic to, it made things a whole lot easier to explain when David's only frame of reference came from cartoons where anything could happen. 

There's the tiniest of squeaks at Jim's feet and the noise is strange enough and unexpected enough that it makes him start a little. Glancing down, Jim notices the kitten David has decided to name Snowy, sitting by his feet on the kitchen floor and looking up at him with a tiny set of yellow-green eyes. Jim is going to have to renew his allergy medication at this rate, but he doesn't shy away from the animal. It's probably hungry, but up until now that had been Spock's area of expertise. David is peering over the edge of the counter with half his body laid out over the marble top until Jim urges him to sit properly in his seat and finish his breakfast. 

"She's probably hungry too, Dad, she needs breakfast!" David exclaims while munching on the remaining cereal floating in the milk. 

Later that afternoon, after Jim has managed to get David ready for the day, he takes him outside to play in the snow; it's so deep that he has to save his son from snow drifts a few times. Spock watches from the windows, foregoing another romp in the cold, since Jim has graciously let him know that they have plans that will be taking them out into the evening chill later. Jim won't tell David where they are going; only that it is a place he used to visit around Christmas time when he was a kid.

While they play outside, building the snow-Vulcan a snow-Vulcan wife and retrieving the sled from the barn, Jim can see Spock in the living room as their path takes them around the front of the house a few times. He seems to be either on his PADD or on his communicator the whole time but Jim doesn't have time to wonder who he might be calling or what he may be working on. It most-likely concerns in some way with Starfleet or the Enterprise. Thinking about his old ship used to bring him a pang of loss, but the more he got to know David and the more involved he became in his child's life, the less he noticed the hole that departing the Enterprise had left in him. 

By the time he and David come inside, David is shivering and dusted with powdered snow; but smiling. Jim is cold as well and helps David strip his snow-covered clothes off in the foyer before sending him upstairs to change his wet socks and find his blanket so he might wrap himself up before the fireplace. "Do you need to go into town today?" Jim asks Spock, realizing it's dumb to ask just after he opens his mouth to speak. 

Spock looks up from his data PADD, watching Jim come into view, pulling his scarf off from around his neck with a flushed face and some light frost in his hair. "I do not."

"Oh, it just seemed like you were uh...busy, I guess." Jim says, mentally cringing at his words even as he speaks and he can see the curious look Spock is beginning to give him, causing Jim to bust a quick retreat into the kitchen. Well, it seemed as if things had gone from one step forward, to two steps backward and Jim had no clue as to how to fix it. Rather than constantly worrying over it, he busies himself with making lunch for all of them. He has a pot of milk on the stove heating for hot chocolate, and is standing there stirring it idly and not letting his mind tick when Spock joins him. 

Rather than taking a seat at the dining room table or finding a spot at the kitchen island, Spock chooses to lean up against the edge of the counter right next to the stove, putting himself in an easy position to watch Jim's face and expression. He asks him suddenly, "How long did you sleep last night, Jim?" 

"How-...wh-what?" Jim starts, confusion plain in his eyes. He had been half expecting Spock to ask what the hell was wrong with him. But he should have known better, Spock could be blunt but not that blunt. 

"You retired to your room last night a quarter past midnight and yet I did not hear your movements cease until well after one-thirty." Spock had been awake too, then? The thought is quickly stifled least he read into it things that couldn't possibly be true. Spock had probably just been meditating; Vulcans did that a lot right? 

"I don't know," Jim mutters, stirring the milk so it will not scald at the bottom of the pot as his attention splits in two directions, "Five hours maybe?" Or was it four? He hadn't exactly let himself look at his clock when he had found himself awake in the wee hours of the morning. He hadn't wanted to know what the time had been. 

Jim can see that look coming back over Spock again, the pursing of his lips and the thinning of his brow that means he is disappointed or otherwise unimpressed. "How long have you had trouble sleeping?" 

"I've always had trouble sleeping, remember? Bones used to prescribe those little red pills for me all the time when we were on the Enterprise, otherwise he'd catch me up at odd hours of Delta shift in the rec room, sparring alone, or on the holo-grid." This isn't a lie and Spock knows he is telling the truth, but it doesn't make him sigh any less. 

"Sleep aides are only a temporary fix for a much larger problem, James." He folds his arms across his chest, looking for all the world like he is about to put up a fight about Jim's sleeping habits. But it's silly to think that, because Jim isn't Spock's responsibility any longer, so when Jim chuckles he isn't surprised when he gets a frown from the Vulcan. "You believe this is amusing?" 

"No, no...I just never thought I'd see the day when I would once again be sleep shamed by someone from my old crew, least of all you. Mr. ... 'I'm a Vulcan; I only need roughly three hours of sleep to function properly'." He curved finger quotations around his impersonation and grins when all Spock can do is arch that brow even higher at him. "Yeah, that's right. I went there...deal with it. So I have insomnia, about thirty-seven percent of adults my age have difficulties sleeping." 

"Yet, it is seen across multiple studies performed on humans that, in most cases, if the subject does not receive a full resting period of six to eight hours of sleep a each night, cognitive functions begin to break down. You lose focus throughout the day, forget things even." Spock argues. 

"I forget things all the time Spock, Jesus...I think you're overreacting." Jim mutters, ripping open a few packs of Swiss Miss hot cocoa mix and dumping them into the pot of warmed milk, pulling the pot off the burner while he stirs it again. 

"Do you not wish to gain more sleep, James?" Spock seems truly perplexed by Jim's dismissive attitude and Jim sighs and reluctantly takes the bait reluctantly. 

"Of course I do, but right now, that doesn't seem to be in the cards, Spock. I live with what I get, that's all. The nights I get no sleep are fewer than they used to be, actually. I think David wears me out." Glancing into the living room, Jim watches his son, curled up on the sofa with the television set at a low volume, Snowy sitting in his lap on his fleece blanket. 

"Would you allow me to help you?" Spock's question throws Jim for a loop, and his gaze snaps back to Spock, eyes widening slightly. 

"What are you suggesting?" He frowns, because he's tried everything. Chamomile tea, reading before bed, exercising before he lies down for the night, even counting fucking sheep with no positive outcome. 

"Perhaps I could coach you in a healthy way with which to force your mind to a calmer state so you may rest efficiently." Spock suggests, and Jim can't argue; he hasn't tried what Spock is suggesting, which sounds oddly close to something like meditation. 

"I don't know, maybe Spock...but not right now." Jim sighs, defeated. He knows Spock is right, his sleeping habits aren't healthy and he feels more tired at the end of every week, especially the bad ones. It couldn't hurt to try something new; after all, Spock never seemed to have trouble sleeping. 

They eat lunch at the dining table like some odd motley family, with a five year-old chasing peas around his plate with a spork and a Vulcan eating a large bowl of greens and steamed vegetables. Then, of course, there is Jim, who sits there like some kind of secret sauce pot all turned in on himself. He has watched Spock help David get a spork full of peas three times now and each time he does it doesn't even begin to lessen the stifling feeling in his chest and stomach; it makes it worse. Spock, as far as Jim knows, has never had a kid of his own, or even spent much time around children, let alone human children. There is one instance he can remember during their mission aboard the Enterprise when a civilian woman they were looking after had gone into labor and Bones had delivered the child. When asked if he might hold the infant, Spock had refused, much to Bones' amusement. 

Looking back on that incident makes him wonder at the Vulcan's openness towards David; sometimes engaging in conversations lasting longer than some of his own with the Captain. It is almost as if he relates more easily to David, finding his childlike curiosity and honesty fascinating, perhaps. He has to admit that he is flattered by Spock's tolerance and interest in his son, but he tells himself it must be his own lack of social contact with anyone other than David for the past year or so. He hasn't made an effort to form many relationships with those living in Riverside and hasn't called anyone other than his boss at the tavern since moving back home. Surely the lack of interaction with people his own age is making him read more into Spock's actions than he should, right? It's almost as if Spock...cares for David, in some capacity. 

"Jim?" Spock's voice cuts through his thoughts like a knife and Jim straightens up in his seat, realizing he's been eating his lunch on auto-pilot. He can tell by the tone in Spock's voice that this can't be the first time he's called his name. 

"Sorry, what?" Shaking the miasma of his thoughts out of his foggy head, Jim stands and retrieves his plate, taking it to the sink and rinsing it off. 

"I was suggesting we take my vehicle instead of yours to whatever event you have planned this evening." Before Jim can protest, Spock continues, "the rented ground car Starfleet was generous enough to provide for me is more than capable of handling this harsh weather, it has studded tires and the best automated system of its line. I would feel safer if we took it instead of your relic." 

"Hey...don't insult my rust-bucket. She's done me good." So Far, he adds in his head as he places his dishes out to dry, returning to the table for David and Spock's dishes. 

"You must admit that the only thing your truck has an advantage in when compared to my vehicle is the sheer bulk and weight of it, correct?" Spock sounds amused and one look at his face confirms it, those brown eyes are glinting at him in that singular way Jim had forgotten about. It's nice...dammit.

"Fine, we'll take your car. But I'm driving; you won't know where we're going anyway." Jim relaxes a little when Spock concedes on this point and they don't mention it again as Jim puts David down for a short nap so he won't be too tired later that evening. 

When he comes back downstairs, he finds Spock stoking the fireplace but only with a single log, since they won't be in the house for a good portion of the evening. He's immediately transported in his mind to the other night, to the awkward, strained conversation; to his stupidity, to that embrace and the thoughts it had brought racing to his mind. He thanks whatever God may or may not exist that at least he hadn't touched Spock's bare skin that night, otherwise Spock would have been able to tell that the images flipping through in his mind were not exactly full of friendship and solidarity. 

Jim looks up from where he's paused behind the couch, his hands braced along its edge, noticing Spock's long stare directed at him as he brushes his hands off against his trousers. For a moment, it looks as if Spock might say something, but the action is quickly aborted and instead, Spock sits down in what Jim has come to consider his corner of the sofa to Jim and picks up his PADD, commenting softly, "I will have to go back to San Francisco for a short while next week Jim. There are a few things I must see to and Scotty has requested my presence, even if a brief one, aboard the Enterprise for a short inspection. I must make this trip before I sign off on any more paper work regarding the ship's refit progress." 

"Oh, alright. That's fine." Jim murmurs, his tone light and airy, even if it feels like there's a hard pit e stuck in his chest. He shifts around the end of the sofa and sinks down onto the other end of it, shifting until he's comfortable. "Will you uh, be coming back here afterward or staying in San Francisco?" 

"I shall be returning before the holiday." Spock doesn't look up from his PADD, so Jim feels a little safer letting some relief sink into his shoulders rather than guarding his stance. 

"Oh, right, Thanksgiving. I still don't know what I'm going to do for that. It's not like I'm going to be having family over or anything. Mom has Frank and Sam is on Deneva. I want to try and keep things normal for David, but I don't exactly have the confidence it takes to cook a turkey, you know?" He grimaces, sliding a hand over the back of his neck sheepishly. 

"Perhaps a simple traditional meal would suffice, Jim. David does not seem to be a temperamental consumer." Spock points out. 

"You mean he isn't picky." Jim corrects. 

"That is what I said." 

Smirking, Jim relaxes into the back of the sofa a little more, letting his legs stretch out in front of him, his head falling back along the edge of the couch comfortably. Folding his hands over his stomach, Jim closes his eyes, even if the chance of his actually catching a nap is next to none. "There is always Chinese food." He chuckles, cracking an eye open to witness the raised brow his comment garners from Spock. Jim listens to the crackling flames in the fireplace for a while, and the soft tapping of Spock's fingers across his data PADD, as he sees to whatever mundane business he may be responsible for. He has no idea he's actually fallen asleep until voices wake him a while later and he can only tell some time has passed because his whole body is a little stiff. 

"You should not wake him; your father needs his rest." Spock's cool, calm voice inserts itself into Jim's semi-conscious brain as he tries to claw his way back out of the clutches of sleep. 

"Is Daddy an old man?" David's small voice, bright and cheery after a nap of his own, answer Spock's with a question. 

"How old do you believe your father is?" If Spock were human, he might have laughed, as it is his voice is only a little stiffer, as if he is working hard to suppress some kind of reaction. 

There is a long silence as David either thinks about his answer, or Jim realizes he is just dreaming and falls back to sleep. When David speaks again, it shifts Jim into full wakefulness, blinking up at the ceiling with a crick in his neck. 

"Daddy's gotta be like...twenty!" David makes this sound like a very large number, being that it's the largest number he can currently count to on his own. It makes Jim smile as he sits up, sliding a hand over his face to wipe away the remnant of sleep from his addled mind. 

David is sitting on the floor near his feet, dressed in his day clothes once again rather than his pajamas, with the kitten in his lap. "I'm a whole eight years older than that, David." Jim smirks, "I'm twenty-eight, how old is that for you then?" 

His son's eyes widen dramatically and David spreads his hands out as wide as they will go, "That's so old Dad!" 

Jim snorts, "Thanks, son." Reaching down, he ruffles David's hair affectionately before he pushes himself up onto his feet, checking the time by the clock on the mantelpiece. He must have slept nearly two hours, which means David has been awake for at least one of those hours. Had Spock been entertaining him? The thought causes that warm and tight place in his chest to react again and he swallows it down, going in search of some water from the fridge to drink. 

The sun has already begun to set, turning the cloud cover across the sky to a dull grey that makes everything look almost monochrome outside. "I was thinking we could head out in a few minutes, maybe stop and get some fast food on our way for dinner. How does that sound?" Jim asks, to which David bounds to his feet, putting Snowy down abruptly on the floor and causing the cat some minor confusion. 

"Can we go to Kenny D's dad?" He asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly. 

"I don't think they have very many vegetarian options for Spock on their menu, how about we get Thai food instead and you and I can get Kenny D's for dinner sometime next week." 

David heaves a sigh but doesn't protest, "Okay." He mutters. 

 

They all dress warmly and venture out of the farmhouse a short while later; Jim having to take the shovel by the door with him to clear a path to Spock's car under the car port, and then clear a second path to the truck when he realizes he needs David's booster seat. They get David settled in the back seat and Jim takes a few pointers from Spock about the operation of the new model rented vehicle, and then they're backing out and turning down the driveway, Spock getting out to open the gate and push it open through the snow. The car is lower to the ground, but with its auto-pilot in sync and short term thrusters operating, they coast a few inches off the ground, grazing a path of tire tracks through the surface of the snow until they reached the plowed main thoroughfare. 

Jim fiddles with the radio until Spock makes him stop, urging Jim to keep his eyes on the road, leaving the radio to the Vulcan to deal with. They end up listening to classical piano music piped in through the speakers and Jim doesn't complain, even if he'd rather listen to Christmas music to set David's excitement. Jim takes the two-eighteen out of Riverside, eventually taking the North interstate three-eighty towards Dubuque. They find themselves on highway thirty, then take the US-151 North, pausing in Langworthy to find some dinner off the freeway. They eat in the car, which surprises Jim, because he had expected some protests from Spock, but the Vulcan eats his noodles from his box of take-out with chopsticks like he had been doing it for ages. David is in the backseat with a fork and a child's rice bowl. Jim lets the car do the driving for a while and eats with one hand, subject to Spock's hawk-eyed looks. 

"What awaits us in Dubuque?" Spock tries one hour into their drive and Jim just smirks at him, shaking his head. 

"If I tell you, that would mean telling David and I'd rather he was surprised." Companionable silence falls between them once more and when the radio station Spock had chosen becomes fuzzy towards Key West, they find a station playing Christmas tunes for the last twenty minute drive into Dubuque. Spock looks out his window at the passing Mississippi River and they cross over it along a large, steel bridge with David peering out the window too, eyes glassy in the flashes of light from the overhead street lamps. 

Instead of taking the city route, Jim takes the country back road up into the hills and maneuvers the car carefully through the curves until they come to an old wooden sign between two trees and a dirt road dusted with fresh snow. Spock reads the sign aloud as they pass by it, "Shore Acres Estate and State Park?" Jim smiles and nods, an old feeling of Christmas glee coming over him as he remembers this place from his own childhood, looking forward to seeing how David might react to it. 

The parking lot is surprisingly full and Jim finds a spot in the well-plowed lot some short distance from the entrance to a medium sized old house, build in a rugged fashion, with French doors and solid wood. Jim gets out and helps David out of his booster seat, lifting him down into the snow and immediately taking his hand, "Hold my hand until we get to the sidewalk, okay?" It's dark and David is small; it would be easy for him to get hit if people weren't paying attention. 

A wood-planked walkway leads them and a thin trickle of other visitors down towards the entrance gate. A woman behind a podium dressed in a thick winter coat, hat, and gloves takes Jim's money for the entrance fee and welcomes them to Shore Acres Estate, offering Spock a historical pamphlet, which he immediately shows interest in as they walk down wooden stairs towards the expansive grounds of the estate. They pass brilliant light displays of jellyfish, puffer fish, eels, and string lights simulating the movement and grace of water and David's neck is craned back as he looks up at them, pointing at a moving light display of a seal diving off a rock and exclaiming, "Daddy, look!" 

Jim smiles, remembering this place through young eyes and remembering being able to forget everything else but the wonder and merriment. Cement paths lead them towards a center fountain and Jim glances back to see Spock, the pamphlet tucked into his back pocket and his hands warmly pressed into his coat pockets; colorful lights flashing across his face and their reflections gleaming in his jet black hair. He meets Jim's gaze and nods, but there is a lightness to his eyes that hadn't been present earlier, and Jim likes to think that there is awe in him too. 

David dashes from side to side across the wide path, looking at all the moving light structures. A whale progresses across a field, breaching the surface of its ocean and ending with its tail sinking below to the deep in brilliant blues and purples. Other children are running around, their parents watching from where they stand in small groups or pairs near the fountain and sit on the bench seats. Both of them watch their own charge tear around the darkened estate under the twinkle lights strung throughout the hedges for added illumination; Spock turns to him and asks, his breath puffing warm mist before his lips, "This place means something to you?"

Jim nods solemnly, "When Sam and I were younger, Mom and Frank would take us here when it was closer to Christmas. It was really the only time Sam and I were allowed to wander off in a public place. We would look at all the lights and pretend that we were somewhere entirely different. Sometimes, Sam would tell me things about Dad. This place has some...good memories attached to it for me." Looking down at the ground, he scuffs the cement with the toe of his shoe. "I want David to have some good memories here too." As if on cue, David comes dashing back towards them, grinning from one ear to the other and panting as he grabs Jim by the hand and tugs him forward. 

"C'mon Dad! There's more!" They walk down the paths together; the three of them, with David in the middle holding onto Jim's hand, and it takes Jim a while to notice that his other hand is curled around the last two of Spock's gloved fingers. He glances at Spock, but the Vulcan doesn't seem to mind, letting David idly swing his arm gently forward and back as he's doing to Jim's as they wander throughout the estate looking at the Christmas lights. Cherry blossom trees circle a man-made pond in the back recesses of the estate and David lets go of them both to lean up against the small fence and hedges separating him from the water's edge. They watch pink lit flamingos bow and straighten out across the water, their elegant necks curved like royalty. Jim ruffles his fingers through David's hair again. 

"Do you like it here, buddy?" Jim asks, at which David whirls around and nods most emphatically. 

"Uh-huh!" David beams, "can we come here tomorrow?" 

Jim grins, "maybe closer to Christmas we'll come again." 

Both he and Spock trail behind David's excited form a while longer, watching the child grow more tired and yet more determined to see it all as they go along. Hundreds upon hundreds of lights illuminate their path and after a while, Jim finally asks Spock, "What about you, do you like Shore Acres at Christmas time?" He smiles when Spock gives a low nod. 

"The sheer amount of imagination and lights are pleasing; both mentally and aesthetically. David is very happy here." Spock's hands are trapped inside his pockets again and Jim is beginning to see an emerald green flush to his nose and cheeks warning of his reaction to the cold. He checks the time on his com-unit and grimaces. They have been out here for well over an hour. 

"David!" Jim calls the boy back, who is dragging now, shuffling between them, when before he had been practically skipping. Before Jim can think to do so, Spock reaches down and slides his hands under David's arms, pulling him up so the child's weight rests against his hip. Jim blinks, realizing that Spock has probably grown used to carrying David since he had begun looking after him in the evenings. As a side note, he must not weigh very much at all to a being like Spock. The image still chokes him however and he finds himself reaching up to briefly place his hand against the back of Spock's shoulder, their eyes meeting over David's head for a moment that sends a little electric shock down Jim's spine. 

David lays his head against Spock's shoulder, his arm hanging down limply as his eyes still roam, looking around at what he can see from over Spock's shoulder as they walk back towards the estate entrance. The parking lot has emptied out somewhat and Jim walks in step with Spock back towards the rental car. Spock ends up putting David in his booster seat while Jim sits in the driver's seat awkwardly, his hands loosely resting in his lap as he watches in the rear-view mirror as Spock buckles David into his safety harness. David's sleepy blue eyes are already heavy and they have barely pulled out of the parking lot before he has fallen asleep, his head lolling on his shoulder. 

Turning on the radio, Jim turns the volume way down and lets the soft music play in the background to help keep David asleep on the hour and forty-five minute drive home. 

Spock speaks first a half hour out of Dubuque, "I feel my...short departure may bring some minor distress to David next week." His gaze is steadily directed out the front windshield but with a side glance, Jim can tell the skin around his eyes has become tight as it does when he is considering something possibly rife with emotionalism. 

Jim parts his lips, but finds he doesn't have much to say to that, eventually murmuring, "Well, he'll deal. He's a tough kid. But you're right, with his tendencies, perhaps it is better we tell him sooner rather than later so he has some time to adjust. Do you know how long you will be gone?" 

"Not as of yet, but perhaps soon and I will let you know once I am notified." Spock assures him. 

"Perhaps it would mean more to him if you were to talk to him about it yourself? I mean, he has come to respect you as an authority figure and you have yet to lie to him." 

"Vulcans do not lie, Jim." Spock says, his voice as flat as the road they travel on. 

"Right, and I don't recklessly throw myself into danger." He gets a look at that, but Spock doesn't continue to argue, which makes Jim smirk, "What I mean to say is, he'll believe you more if you tell him you're coming back. Doubly so if you give him a date I can mark on the kitchen calendar. If he can see proof that you're returning, he'll be better about it." 

"I regret the emotional upheaval my departure will cause him, but I am certain this return to San Francisco is necessary." Spock says, lips pursed. 

"Of course it is, duty calls, it always does. But David and I will be here when you get back." Did he sound clingy? Jim thought he sounded sort of clingy, but Spock didn't comment, so he let it slide. 

"It should not be longer than four days, perhaps less if I am diligent." Spock glances in the rear-view mirror at David in the backseat, his gaze drifting away again as he sinks into thought. 

"Don't rush anything Spock, we'll be here...David can wait, he keeps insisting he's a big boy and here's his chance to prove himself. Besides, he'll have me." They lapse into silence again and Jim drives the rest of the way back to Riverside with thoughts of Spock's upcoming departure swirling in his mind. With Spock out of the house, things would be different, for sure. But he had handled it for a year without help, he could do it again; he'd have to. He needed to get a better handle on his and David's routine, because in just another month and a half, Spock would be leaving for good. Or at least, for another three years. 

Back at the farmhouse, Jim lifts David out of his booster seat and carries him up the front porch, a few snowflakes lazily drifting down from the clear, star-filled sky overhead. Spock unlocks the door with Jim's key and they enter the darkened house together, Jim stamping his feet to shake the snow off his boots and pausing at the bottom stair. "I'm going to put him to bed; will you start a fire again?" 

Spock nods and wordlessly slips into the dark living room, surprisingly without running into anything and Jim directs a slight glare into the living room after him, muttering, "Show off..." 

Upstairs, he manages to wrestle David out of his clothes, maneuvering a mostly sleeping child into pajamas and into bed. He doesn't read to David tonight, the child is already drifting back to deeper sleep when Jim turns out the lamp by his bed and drags the blankets up as far as they will go; tucking them in around him. 

Down in the living room, Spock has started a fire in the hearth and Jim peels off his coat, shivering as the cooler air of the house touches the back of his neck and his lower back where his shirt is half hitched up his frame until he straightens himself out again. "I know you didn't really drink with Bones and me when we would partake and relax off duty but...how about a gin and tonic?" 

"That would be most agreeable, Jim." Spock replies, his voice somewhat muffled as he unwinds his scarf from around his neck. He has stripped himself back down to a single warm layer of a sweater and slacks by the time Jim returns from the kitchen with two short glasses; a gin and tonic for Spock and a whiskey on the rocks for himself. 

Handing off the glass, Jim sinks with a grunt and a sigh onto the sofa, slouching until he can prop his feet up on the edge of the coffee table; Snowy leaping up onto the sofa cushion beside him. He begrudgingly allows the cat space next to his leg but doesn't touch her. He would rather not break out in hives tonight. 

"How did you manage to fall asleep earlier this afternoon?" Spock asked and Jim swears there is a note of smugness in that Vulcan's tone. 

"Uh," Jim shrugs a little and takes a sip of his drink, grimacing at the burn traveling down his throat to pool in the center of his chest and warm his belly. "I don't know, I was probably just really exhausted. It builds up after a while and I can sleep for over ten hours on my days off sometimes." 

Spock hums in quiet agreement, but it takes him a moment to continue the challenge, "You do not think it might have been attributed to a particular state of mind this afternoon?" 

Jim blinks, "How do you mean?" For a split second, his heart thumps painfully against his rib cage as he thinks that maybe Spock had put two and two together, with the odd way he had been acting lately, despite his efforts to seem normal. 

"You were relaxed this afternoon, you had just eaten a full meal and David was also resting. Perhaps you should make it a habit, when he rests, you should rest as well?" Spock suggests and Jim feels entirely dull witted when icy relief floods him. 

"Oh, yeah, you're right, maybe." Jim sighs, "but I've noticed that when I nap during the day, it's harder for me to get to sleep later that night. You and David probably should have woken me sooner." 

They are quiet for a time; Spock cradling his glass in one hand against his knee, the other arm propped against the armrest of the sofa. His tone is gentle and careful the next time he speaks and Jim can't help but be immediately on guard, licking his lips as he listens to Spock make a quiet suggestion. 

"If you might permit me...I could aide you in achieving rest tonight. Given that we have melded in the past, it would be easier for me to do so in this instance." What Spock is suggesting is only somewhat horrifying, if not a little tempting. From what Jim has experienced, there are deep melds and shallow melds. What he and Spock had engaged in during a necessary moment aboard the bridge of the Enterprise had been brief and shallow. But what seemed like the yawning stretch of time he had spent caught in the mental sweep of Ambassador Spock's memories after the destruction of Vulcan had been much deeper. Those memories still creep up on him from time to time if he isn't careful, thoughts and emotions experienced by another person, not himself; choked and ragged and stealing his breath. But is Spock suggesting something that deep? Somehow, he doesn't think so, and wouldn't agree to it anyway, the last thing he wants right now is for Spock to come across something in his head he'd rather not share; perhaps not ever share. 

"What could you do through a meld that we can't do without one?" Jim licks his lips, his throat suddenly dry. He blames the alcohol. 

"I would only access the parts of your brain pertaining to your sleep cycle; the signals and receptors of your brain in the thalamus are not operating correctly, causing your insomnia. If I can manage to slow the rate at which your brain is firing these signals, I may be able to ease you into a twilight stage of sleep which you can choose to deepen once you are sufficiently relaxed." Spock explains. 

Jim takes a moment to process Spock's suggestion before turning a keen eye on Spock, "So basically, you're telling me you can shut out my constant thinking and quiet the hell out of my brain?" He chuckles, throwing back the last few threads of his whiskey with a hiss and a grimace. "I suppose it's worth a try. It's not like you've got to root around in the heart of it, right?" 

"The process, is successful, should only take three minutes and fifteen seconds to achieve the desired effect." Nodding, Spock leans forward, abandoning the rest of his drink on the coffee table. "If you wish, you may retire to your room and proceed through your normal routines. Once you are ready, I can begin the process while you recline comfortably." 

"You mean...when I'm in bed." Jim realizes the stupid is loose from his mouth again but can't take the words back, wincing inwardly when Spock casts him a look that means he is stating the obvious. 

"Yes, Jim." 

Grunting, Jim leans forward and rolls to his feet, picking up Spock's glass and tossing the last of the drink into the flames, making them jump and lick desperately at the log for a short time, burning through the alcohol. "Alright, give me a minute." Upstairs, he's all nerves as he shuts himself in the bathroom and splashes some water over his face and neck. Vulcans are mysterious creatures; he had no idea Spock could do something like this, and he also wonders just how subtle the whole thing will be. Will it be like the meld he and Spock had engaged in on the Enterprise? Or would it be completely different? He has to tell himself he's being ridiculous a few times before he can get his heart under control again and when he emerges a few minutes later from his room dressed in a warm pair of sweats and a loose t-shirt, he finds Spock at the bottom of the stairs about to come up. "Hey, let’s do this then..." He murmurs reluctantly, at which Spock nods, exuding a state of confidence which makes Jim feel a little better for. 

In his room, Jim approaches his bed and squares his shoulders; this really shouldn't be something serious to him. Lying down, Jim slides under the blankets and pulls them up until they rest comfortably across his chest, his arms beneath the blankets. Spock finds a towel from Jim's earlier shower that morning hanging off a hook on the back of his door and uses it to shield some of the light cast from the bedside lamp, explaining as he does so, "It will be easier for you to achieve and maintain a half restful state if the room is dimmer." When he turns to perch on the edge of Jim's bed, Jim can't help but feel a terrible little thrill rolling through his stomach. Long fingers reach out towards him and Jim forces his eyes to close, his jaw clenching tightly shut. 

"Do not tense, Jim. You must relax for this to work." Spock's fingers hover a moment across his face, casting shadows over his eyelids he can see until warm fingertips just lightly touch the vaguely familiar places along his jaw, cheek and forehead; his meld-points. Humans are mostly psi-null, but even Jim can feel a light buzzing along his skin where Spock touches him, just before Spock murmurs the customary, soft words, "My mind to your mind...my thoughts to your thoughts." There isn't a mental push like Jim remembered, just a slight tingling that moves across his brow and above his ears. It's only when Spock moves his fingers to scoop beneath Jim's neck and head that the tingling travels toward the base of his skull and he cannot suppress a shudder. 

Spock doesn't say anything aloud, but across Jim’s mind comes a feeling; something vague and slow. It's as if someone has pressed his play button at half speed. It takes forever for him to form even a single thought, words muddling together in a slow drawl that almost makes him laugh. He grins a little and the stretch of his own mouth feels weird and he opens his eyes part way. Through a sleepy haze, he sees Spock leaning over him, seemingly concentrated but also relaxed. It's as if he is terribly hungover without any of the pain and Jim basks in it for a while until there is absolutely nothing. It is as if someone has shut the front door and he is in an entirely sound proof room.

He looks up at Spock and as the Vulcan pulls away, he doesn't even hear the rustle of the bed clothes at the movement. Spock sits there for a moment, a moment that seems to stretch on for forever, and all Jim can manage to process is that he is warm, he is comfortable, and he is more tired than he has ever been. His last look about the room reveals Spock leaning towards the bedside lamp, and just before the light goes from the room, he can see a small and yet pleased smile curving the Vulcan's lips. The light from the hallway fades as his door shuts and he is left in the complete and utter silence of his mind. He sinks into it, accepts it, and falls toward the deepest sleep he's had in years.


	9. Small Goodbyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We finally get to the crux of Jim's issues and Spock leaves for San Francisco, much to David's chagrin. But he will return, expecting a certain answer from Jim that could bring some significant changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! First day of my Christmas vacation off work, woo-hoo! I'm hoping it will give me a lot of chances to write in the next week, expect to see some updates. This chapter was really intense for me to write, and you'll all see why. I'm happy with it though, and I'm sticking to that. Hopefully everything makes sense in the paragraphs to follow.  
> Again, thank you all, I can never stop being grateful for all the comments and kudos you guys have given this fic. It is currently making my holiday season bright, as I hope it does for you and yours.

In the days leading up to Spock's departure, both he and Jim skirt the topic for as long as they can. They both know that Spock's absence will have an impact on David, though neither of them is willing to think about it too hard. Jim knows he'll be left to deal with the aftermath. If Spock had only stayed a few days; less than a week upon arrival, there would have been no problem. But now David has had time to grow attached to Spock, being left with him most evenings of the week; being looked after and read to. David is still young and Jim is betting that even when the situation is explained, David will need constant distraction from missing the guest that had become an unwitting fixture of the Kirk household. 

The night before Spock is to leave, they are all seated around the dining table eating dinner; a vegetarian curry Jim had put together--when Spock casts Jim a long glance. He knows it's coming, but he hadn't expected Spock to initiate this conversation with his son. Licking curry off his lips, Jim sets his fork down and leans back in his seat, bracing himself for David's reaction, whatever it may be. 

"David," Spock calls the child's name to get his attention and David stops pushing his tofu across his plate, "What are the responsibilities of a Starship captain?" 

Jim blinks, confused for a moment, as is David. This was how Spock was going to broach the topic? He had to admit, it was pretty clever. David scrunches his nose up for a moment; thinking, before he says, "To fight bad guys!" 

"What else, David?" Spock prompts, taking a bite of his dinner while he waits for David to reply. 

"Um..." poking his finger into the curry sauce, David licks it off his finger and then points it in the air with determination fueled by a child's sense of justice, "To protect everyone!" 

"Is it a Captain's job to be sure his crew is safe?" Spock asks, arching a brow up at David and cutting into a cube of tofu with the side of his fork. 

"Umm, yes." David nods, bobbing his head up and down a little too much. "And to, um-- to, um... make sure that," he wipes some of his hair back off his forehead, causing Jim to note he is in dire need of a haircut, "that everybody does their job." 

"Correct," Spock continues, "and to be certain the ship is in good repair, correct?" Spock receives another emphatic nod and Jim has to hide his smirk behind a sip from his glass. "As a Captain, I am expected to tend to my ship, do you understand this?" 

"Yeah, uh-huh." David mutters, picking up a pea with his fingers rather than his spoon until Jim prompts him to use better manners. 

"I must leave to check on it tomorrow, but I will be back soon." Spock doesn't seem to realize that he will need to explain further and Jim sets his glass down without a sound, watching David work out a line of thought. 

"Can I come too?" He asks finally, eyes bright with the excitement of possibly seeing a starship. 

"You have school tomorrow, David. You will have to stay here and look after your father instead." Spock says gently, his eyes down at his plate and Jim knows why, because who wants to see the crest-fallen expression of a child? 

"Oh...but Daddy won't be lonely, he can come too, right?" 

"No David," Jim cuts in softly, "I have work tomorrow night and Spock will have a lot of responsibilities to see to back in San Francisco. We would only be in his way, buddy." 

"But," David sets his small fork down, his shoulders lowering slowly as disappointment truly begins to set in, "we have to go with Mr. Spock. What if he gets lonely without us?" 

Grimacing a little, Jim is about to end the conversation without any idea of how to proceed when Spock beats him to it in a calm tone that impresses Jim, "I will not have time to become lonely, David, for I will be back before you finish school this week." 

David's blue eyes glisten, threatening an onslaught of tears, and Jim can already feel a tightening in his own chest in response, "But I don't want you to go..." 

"You want my crew to be safe, do you not?" Spock asks placing the power in David's hands. 

"Yes." David sounds about five seconds away from a pout but agrees anyway, even if it is with a terrible frown. 

"Then I must go back to San Francisco for a short while. I will be back before you even have the chance to miss my company." Spock says, diplomacy causing his voice to become firm. 

Jim shifts his glance between his son and his friend, calling the moment when David withdraws, asking if he can leave the table, although his dinner is only half finished. Sighing, Jim nods and watches his son push away from the table and run from the room, his feet pounding on the wood floor on his way up to his room. He winces when his door slams upstairs and casts a rueful weary look at Spock. 

"Well, that could have gone better...but at least he didn't break into hysterics." Jim murmurs, getting up from the table as well and gathering his and David's plates to wash. Spock looks mildly defeated himself, refusing his lift his gaze from his plate as he sits and finishes his meal without Jim's company beside him. 

"I do not fully understand his distress, for I did tell him I would be returning." Spock stands, carrying his own plate to the sink where Jim is already scrubbing dishes. "It is illogical to be so distressed by a simple parting of a few days." 

"Whoever said the human race is logical, Spock?" Jim mutters, handing a wet plate to Spock, who already has a towel in his hand as per their routine; drying the dishes Jim hands him. 

Arching a slender brow, Spock inclines his head in agreement, which Jim smiles at, "Don't worry, he's just shutting you out right now to make the pain of rejection hurt a little less. Eventually he'll realize if he wants to say goodbye, he'll have to come out of his room. How early are you leaving tomorrow?" 

"I depart for Des Moines at 0800 hours." Spock sets a plate down with a quiet 'clink' before saying what is weighing on his mind; a slow look of understanding passing through his brown eyes that makes Jim pause in his movements to look at him directly. 

"What?" Jim prompts, blinking. 

"Is it common for humans to withdraw from a companion they are about to leave behind, in order to lessen the emotional strain it will cause in both themselves and their companion?" Spock asks, drying his hands on the dish towel absently until Jim replies. 

"Uh, yeah, I'd say it's pretty common. Maybe more so in males, if you apply those old stereotypes of being emotionally stunted creatures to us." Jim snorts, but then he gets it, as Spock is studying his face a little too closely. Jim drops his gaze, reaching back into the soapy water in the sink to gather up their utensils for scrubbing and rinsing. 

"Jim." It isn't a question or a statement, it's simply his name said in such a way that makes Jim unable to refrain from looking up. Instead, he raises his eyes up to the darkened glass of the window before them and sees Spock leaning one hand against the counter's edge; still staring. 

"What?" If he snaps a little, Jim can't control it. 

"James," Spock's voice is graver this time, but Jim still will not look, not until Spock continues in a voice which only grows lower, "Tiberius," Jim flinches a little at the use of his middle name, and yet he still continues to gaze down at the fork he is scrubbing. "Kirk." Spock finishes, for which Jim heaves a sigh and drops the fork with a clatter into the sink, bracing his soapy hands along the porcelain edge.

His head rolls back until his eyes meet the ceiling, "What, Mr. Spock?" He says stiffly and almost jumps out of his very skin when a hand wraps around his upper arm. Jim jerks, his head around to look at Spock and hopes the Vulcan cannot see the flush spreading hot across his face. God, he can probably hear Jim's heart leaping in the cage of his ribs like he had just been zapped.

Spock's gaze is steady, but rather than being judgmental or aloof, instead there is gentle warmth in his eyes that throws Jim for a loop. "You distanced yourself from me and from your other friends aboard the Enterprise long before you gave your resignation to Starfleet. You knew long before that meeting with your senior staff." It isn't a question, so Jim doesn't answer, letting Spock continue, "You knew almost a full solar month before you left." 

"So?" Jim mutters, dropping his arm out of Spock's hold as he turns to face the Vulcan, folding his arms defensively across his chest; causing Spock to square up his shoulders in a mirror of defense. "Yeah, I knew. So what, it isn't as if I was going to come crying to you or Bones about it. It was my problem and I was dealing with it on my own, okay?" 

"Was it stubbornness...or a lack of trust?" Spock asks finally, causing Jim to almost blanch at the ease with which he finds the truth of the matter. 

"I don't know what you're talking about Spock." Jim grumbles, snatching the towel out of Spock's hand and drying the rest of the flatware himself with jerky, angry movements. 

"You mentioned yourself that the fewer people who knew about your newly acquired son, the better. You believed that it would place you and David in some kind of danger. But Jim, your home here in Iowa isn't in Starfleet records; your mother had it removed when she sold it to you." Spock murmurs softly, taking another step closer to Jim, who tenses and moves away, shutting the water off in the sink with a slap of his hand. 

"How the hell do you know that?" Eyes narrowing, Jim backs up until his lower back hits the counter's edge across the kitchen, and yet Spock is still advancing as he speaks. 

"I checked the record when I went to look up your current residence. The only other person who knows you are living here is Admiral Pike. I do not believe you refrained from telling the Doctor and me, or any other member of staff you considered a close confidant out of any feelings of mistrust or fear." Spock is standing right in front of him now and Jim has to restrain himself from placing his hands against Spock or make any kind of move to push him away. Instead, he stands his ground as he watches realization pass over the Vulcan's face anew, like a dog with a bone he is going to chew to the last second.

"You did not tell anyone about David...out of some misplaced feeling of embarrassment and shame." Spock finishes, dragging a wince out of Jim. 

"What do you know about feelings, Spock?" Jim snarls, straightening up as his natural instinct is to push back, to wound where he has been wounded. "You're a walking automaton, just as Bones has always said." 

"You do not truly believe that, or you would not leave me with your son if you thought me truly unfeeling." Spock murmurs, and Jim can see the skin about his eyes tightening from the force of his own blow towards the Vulcan. It makes Jim wish he could take his words back. 

"What do you want from me, Spock? Huh? Do you want me to say 'yeah you're right'? That I was embarrassed and ashamed? Not of David, never of David." Jim says, his voice rising, causing Spock to take a step back and Jim to advance into that relinquished space with an intimidating push forward. "But ashamed that I was stupid enough to have never realized what I had done? To have never thought Carol's abrupt departure from my life might have meant something bigger than her disgust with me? To believe that her request for a loan about two years ago was anything more than just her falling on hard times and unable to afford an apartment in San Francisco while she finished out her college degree? To realize that a tense phone call from her step-mother wiring back that cash indicated anything more than her disapproval of me?" Jim rakes a hand through his hair, watching Spock absorb the new information he hadn't meant to reveal in his anger. He knows the situation is rocketing clear out of his control, but he doesn't know how to put on the brakes until Spock reaches out and grips his shoulders firmly, grounding him. 

Blinking, Jim swallows past a thickness in his throat, "You can't possibly know how stupid I felt, how angry I was. Not only at myself, but at Carol too. She robbed me of four years of my son's life; not even giving me a choice until it was too late. What else could I do, but give everything up for a child I never knew? He's mine now...and in a way, I'm glad she's gone. But in another, I'm pissed about that too; her death. She died and left David in the hands of strangers. She fucked up our kid and there's nothing I can do about it." Sliding his hands up over his face, Jim scrubs at his cheeks and forehead, smearing a wetness he was horrified to feel there. 

"Jim..." Spock's voice is soft; not reproachful and yet Jim can't look at him. "It isn't your fault." 

"Yeah, well something has got to be, because I've got a baby boy up there who balks at any situation where he might be separated from someone, even if it's for a day or less. If I go around a corner at the supermarket and he's more than three steps from me, he screams and cries, Spock. He has nightmares that rival even my own. I've seen him kick and scream in his sleep, Spock. What am I to do with that? He's too young for any therapy that could really help; he talks to a school counselor every week, and the drawings she shows me are pretty sad, Spock. He thinks I'm going to leave him behind someday, go back into space, like his mother used to tell him. I'm pretty sure she painted a picture without me in it; ever." 

"Jim." This time, Spock sounds more insistent and his warm hands curl around the sides of Jim's neck, forcing his head up with thumbs beneath his jaw to raise his face until he is peering up at Spock with his arms limp at his sides in weariness. 

"I don't know what the hell I'm doing here Spock. It was never in my plan to be a dad, I had always assumed I would die out there in the black, always thought I would be like Dad." His expression twists with new pain at this admission and Jim tries to lower his head, but Spock will not allow the movement. 

"You are a better man than that James." Spock murmurs, "It is far easier to take the martyred route. Your father saved 800 individuals, and potentially billions more--had he not diverted Nero with his sacrifice, but dying is easy." He whispers, studying the confusion filling Jim's face, "It is far harder to live, far harder to create something out of nothing. You have made a home here for David, created a space in which he feels safe and happy." 

Spock's thumbs curve in, sliding up over Jim's cheeks. "And I know you will not wish to hear this, but you are exactly like your father." His hands grip Jim's head harder when Jim tries to pull away, not allowing his escape; not letting him recoil from his words, "you gave up everything you had for that boy. Your father gave up everything he had for his family. I can tell you with enough confidence to say...your father's last thoughts were never on the billions of strangers he was bound to save; he had no idea he would even succeed. His last thoughts were of his family. His unborn child, his wife, and his oldest son." 

Jim's expression crumples into sorrowful defeat and he slumps forward as Spock's words reach him on a level he had not ever considered. He had spent his whole life blaming George Kirk Senior for everything. For abandoning him and the family, for not being able to find any better way than suicide to defeat Nero in that encounter. He supposed, in a way, his discomfort had never been over David's abandonment issues, but over his own. "God, Spock..." Jim whispers, his eyes screwed tightly shut, his hands wrapping around Spock's wrists shaking with tremors that roll through his entire body. Before he can protest or pull away, strong hands pull him into an embrace he would never expect from his Vulcan companion. 

"Dare to do better, Jim." Spock murmurs, his chin resting over the crown of Jim's head. 

A weak sound that could be laughter escapes Jim through the tears and he mutters, "You got that from Pike..." 

"Yes, because he said the same to me once." With one hand cradling the back of Jim's head and the other on his hip, Spock holds his former Captain through the shaking of his body overcome by harsh emotions. He feels them roll through the man across the points of contact between them. 

Jim's forehead is pressed against Spock's collarbone, exposed past the collar of his sweater, and the thrum of his galvanized mind drags Spock towards the greater realms of his sympathy. There is a weakness underlying Jim’s strength; weakness he had never suspected throughout their earlier friendship, and it makes him see Jim in a new light. Gone is Jim’s arrogance, replaced now with understanding. Spock himself knows the desire to cover up a negative emotion with another, to hide behind a mask; Vulcans have been accused of the very same action since their first contact with humans. "You are a good father, James. David...loves you very much." 

There is a choked sound from Spock's shoulder where Jim has let out a scoff, "I don't feel like one." 

"I can't imagine many do." Spock murmurs, "at least not in the beginning. Learning to parent is a process." 

"You seem better at it than I am, actually." Jim mutters, sniffing slightly when he comes to realize he is getting snot on Spock's collar. He moves to pull away, but Spock's arms only tighten on him and he is immobilized; only able to lift his head from Spock's shoulder to peer up at him curiously. For a moment, he thinks that maybe Spock will speak, but instead they stare at one another in silence. Despite the fact that he has just broken down in front of someone he had thought it would be horrifying to lose his shit in front of, Jim has to admit that in this moment, there is something electric between them. Does Spock feel it too? Jim's heart is in his mouth, choking him, even as Spock's head is tilted down to meet his gaze, the both of them seeming to measure one another in weighted glances. 

Jim lets his eyes roam over Spock's features, trying to read something in them. But as it has always been, Jim gleans the most from those expressive eyes. Therein lays confusion and uncertainty, but also something far more intangible. Brown eyes pull him in, lock him in place like a field mouse, frozen in fear; spied by a hungry cat. Jim swallows, falling into those eyes, unable to claw his way out again until Spock blinks and breaks the moment. 

With a shudder, Jim sags and steps back out of Spock's arms, now loose and pliant. Spock lets him go free and the two men study one another a long while. Neither of them dares to speak, too afraid to mention the growing ball of something between them. It crackles with an energy Jim has never felt before, pulls with the force of dark matter; unsteady and unstable. It is hungry; so all-consuming it could swallow them both and Spock's head tilts to the side in disbelieving interest. Before he can reach out again towards Jim, there is a sound of soft footsteps padding slowly and reluctantly through the living room towards the kitchen. Jim takes a hasty step back out of Spock's reach and turns away to the sink, busying himself awkwardly with the few dishes still awaiting his attention. 

David comes contritely into the room, looking up at Spock after a few hesitating steps towards him, dragging his blankie in one hand across the floor. "Mr. Spock?" He ventures, his voice small and apologetic, even though he has done nothing wrong, he couldn't have missed the raised voice from downstairs. Perhaps he thought his father had been yelling at Spock. "Would you...um, would you read to me?" In his other hand, he holds up a book towards the Vulcan, a hope in his eyes. 

Leaning down, Spock takes the book from David's hands, "I will. Have you taken your bath yet?" 

"No," David mumbles, scuffing his socked foot across the floor, "Can I after you read?" 

Spock glances at Jim, who can tell because he is watching him through the reflection in the window, but Jim looks away when their eyes meet, muttering, "I don't care if you read to him now. Spend some time with him..." He wasn't going to say 'before you have to leave', but it is implied and he knows Spock understands as he lifts David into his arms and carries him into the living room, reading the title of the book as they go.

Jim is given a chance to relax when Spock leaves the kitchen; his shoulders slumping and head bowing as he replays the gross hysterics he had lapsed into just moments ago. But rather than calling him to pull himself together, as Jim had expected Spock would, the Vulcan had accepted his need to vent and held him through the collapse. It had triggered something between them, however, and Jim had no idea what it was or what to do with it. He knew he had some form of attraction to Spock, had recognized its development, with some horror, ages ago. But he had never intended to act on it, and just now, he had almost leaned up to kiss Spock. Call him crazy, but he had almost thought Spock might do the same. In fact, all the signs had been there, all the cliché’s had been in alignment. Although he had never pictured himself being in a more receptive position, Spock was taller than him. In all his past relationships he had always had the upper hand perhaps his typical dominance had merely been assumed because of his gender and size in relation to his partner. But with Spock, he simply wasn't used to the changed dynamic and it threw off his game.

Abruptly, Jim ends these thoughts with a shake of his head. He doesn't need to go down this road right now. For all he knew, Spock would come back from San Francisco in a few days to find everything back to normal. What if Spock had just been caught up in the strange moment too, and would deny everything later? Perhaps he would reject Jim, and Jim wasn't sure he was strong enough to handle such a rejection any longer. It was one thing, as a virile young man, to be jilted by a lover. He had just been able to move on to another, after all. But with Spock it was entirely different. It also didn't help that Spock had forged a certain kind of relationship with David, and Jim would hate to deny his son the opportunity to have another positive figure in his life. From every angle he looked at it, initiating anything deeper with Spock would only lead to heartache; not only for himself, but for David as well. If things went south, as they were bound to do since, Jim always fucked his relationships up somehow; David would suffer too, and Jim could not justify that in any way, shape or form. 

"I believe the kitchen is sufficiently clean now, Jim." Spock's voice breaks through Jim's thoughts so suddenly that it causes Jim to startle and turn around. He hadn't realized it, deep in thought he had moved from doing dishes to cleaning all the usable surfaces in the kitchen. The stove was gleaming and the counters were clean, as well as the dining room table. Dropping the sponge in his hand into the sink, Jim awkwardly wipes his hands down the front of his jeans to dry them. Spock is giving him another one of those odd looks, but Jim doesn't give it time to linger as he moves past him and into the living room. 

"I've got to get David's bath ready; he has to be up early for school tomorrow and he's got to go to bed in a half hour-" Jim begins, cut off by Spock's following remark:

"David is already in bed, Jim." Spock murmurs, looking a tad bit concerned. 

Jim is moderately horrified. He had lost himself so completely in his thoughts that he hadn't even realized how much time had passed or what his son had needed for the evening. Turning, Jim wipes a hand down over his mouth and chin, grimacing, "I'm sorry Spock, I should have taken care of that." 

With a shake of his head, Spock dismisses the comment and follows Jim into the living room where the fire is still lit, spreading its warmth throughout the room. "Sit down, Jim." 

The entire day has been one roller-coaster after another and Jim reluctantly sits on the sofa, backing himself up into one corner for comfort and tucking one pillow against his side and under his arm, like it might act as some kind of buffer between himself and Spock. The Vulcan is one step ahead, however, turning from a cabinet in the living room and holding out a glass half full of a rich and smoky amber liquid to Jim. Taking it, Jim takes a single sip with a soft 'thank you' that turns into a smirk before he can stall the expression. "Trying to get me drunk?" 

Spock sits, a clear liquor in his own glass, most-likely a gin then. He pauses with his glass half raised towards his lips and cocks a brow at Jim, finally saying, "Would it work if I did?" 

Jim almost chokes on his whiskey and ends up coughing into one curled fist; his throat burning from the alcohol already halfway to his stomach. "Jesus H. Christ..." He wheezes, thrown completely off balance by Spock's reply, laced with the same measure of innuendo Jim had been teasingly using. But Spock doesn't seem to be teasing, or at least Jim can’t tell until there is a reluctant twitch at the corner of his mouth Jim reads to be a smirk. "Holy shit, warn a guy next time you decide to pull shit over on him..." 

Setting his glass down against his knee, Spock traces the design in the glass with his thumb and forefinger, twisting it round and around against his leg. "I thought it might have the desired effect, what you would call 'breaking the ice'." 

Jim immediately sobers, his shoulders dropping as all the humor in the situation is sucked back out again, leaving in its wake this oddness between them again. "Rule number one...don't ever mention the breaking of the ice, Spock." 

"Ah, noted." Spock says with a grave nod, their eyes connecting briefly before they are both looking away again. 

Venturing first, Spock slowly speaks after a moment of silence, "It did make you laugh, however." 

Nodding, Jim concedes the point. "See what I mean? Better father than me." 

Arching a brow, Spock says severely, "I cannot understand how you insist on comparing the two of us, when you are the only person here currently with a child. David is not mine, as you stated an hour and fifteen minutes ago; he is yours." 

Jim cannot help it, so he asks, "What does that make you then? The nanny?" With a tilt of his head Jim can't quite say is agreement, Spock refrains from saying anything, which only makes Jim form a small smile. He takes a turn back towards all seriousness after a while, however, matching Spock's closed expression. It's only when he shifts a bit closer against his better judgement that Spock looks at him again. 

"What are we doing, Spock...?" Jim asks softly, staring into the flames with his drink half- finished in his lap. 

"I believe one might say we are relaxing," Spock murmurs, at which Jim rolls his eyes. 

"No, Spock. You know what, never mind." Grimacing, Jim throws back the rest of his drink and leans forward to place his glass on the coffee table. "I'm going to bed." He sighs, bracing his hands into the sofa cushions to help lever his tired body back into a standing position. But before he can move even an inch, Spock forestalls him in a quiet voice, saying: 

"I cannot tell you what we are doing because I have no prior experience to work off of. I have never..." Trailing off, Spock studies the dregs of his drink before throwing it back as Jim had done, much to Jim's surprise. Even though Vulcans do not metabolize alcohol in the same manner as humans, Jim wonders if Spock takes some form of liquid strength from the action anyhow, because he continues. "I have never opted to initiate an intimate relationship before now." 

Jim is stunned and his shoulders sink as he lowers his arms from their braced position, sliding his hands to rest in his lap as he looks back over his shoulder at Spock. Spock isn't looking at him, but rather at his hands, folded loosely around his empty glass. Jim can see the frown lines beginning to form between those perfectly sculpted brows. "What do you mean, of course you have? What about Uhura?" He blinks in confusion, feeling once again like some kind of goldfish in a tiny bowl. 

"No," Spock says, shaking his head, "she initiated our relationship at the time, I simply agreed." 

Well, he can't say that's a shocker; Nyota Uhura has always been head-strong for as long as Jim has known her, and the image of her asking Spock out fits far better than the reverse. "Oh, well um..." lapsing into silence again, Jim can't figure out what to make of this. Does this mean Spock is trying to initiate a relationship now? With him? If he is, should he put a stop to those illusions right away? Jim has to admit, a giddy part of him wants to let it play out, to see how it might feel to have that relationship. But the less selfish part of him is smarter, knows better. 

"Does that mean, um...that you are trying to now? I mean, trying to initiate a relationship, that is." He clarifies, feeling like an idiot for saying it, but also scared out of his mind. Just talking about this could potentially ruin their friendship and it has become one of the parts of his life Jim has relied the most on lately. If he lost Spock because of his stupid desires, he didn't know what he would do. For one, life in Iowa would become almost unbearably lonely. He could see it now. No friends, no life, just sports practices and David. He'd crawl into a hermit's hole and never come out again. 

"I am," Spock says with a measure of hesitation, the Adam's apple in his throat bobbing on a swallow that draws Jim's gaze. He has such a slender neck. 

"Shit." Jim groans, lowering his face down towards his hands, elbows braced along his knees. He can't go through with this; he knows he can't, no matter how much he wants to. His distress seems to make Spock uncomfortable and Jim can feel him shift beside him on the sofa. 

"Jim?" This couldn't have been the reaction he had been expecting or hoping for and Jim feels guilty as he half turns to face Spock more fully. 

"We can't do this Spock, not now." He says with a slow shake of his head, his lips pressed into a hard line. "Maybe not ever. Not with how much David has begun to like and accept you into his life, nor with how bad of a track record I have Spock. You remember; Bones used to call me the biggest Tomcat of the galaxy." 

"You are afraid you would compromise any future relationship by your actions?" Spock's eyes narrow, "you believe you may end it on grounds of infidelity? Jim, you are not an adulterer, you have simply had a wider pool of intimate partners." 

Jim snorts, shaking his head, "It's not just about 'having a lady in every port', as Bones would say. But that every time I've tried to have a serious relationship, I've screwed shit up. Carol Marcus, for instance." He says with an annoyed flapping of his hands, folding them into his lap and squeezing them together hard to keep himself from gesticulating any more wildly. "I screwed that up, and plenty of other relationships too." 

"You fear that any deterioration in our relationship, should it become intimate, might lead to me shutting both your and David out of my life?" Spock probes, to which Jim nods sullenly. "I...care about David," Spock says softly, his voice hitching on a pause as he forces words that must seem foreign coming out of his mouth. "A great deal, in fact; as much as yourself." The admittance is raw and pulls Jim's gaze back towards the Vulcan. 

"Christ," Jim breathes, leaning back into Spock's space, the Vulcan half turned with an arm along the back of the sofa. He sinks in towards the curve of Spock's chest, pillowing his shoulder there against the hard line of a collarbone and staring into the flames in the fireplace. "You're not going to let me ignore this, are you?" 

"What logic would there be in ignoring the potential for a relationship that could benefit us both?" Spock inquires, letting Jim's warmth seep past the layer of his sweater to his skin beneath. 

"You say 'benefit' now, but you might feel differently later." Jim grumbles. 

Spock sets his glass down on the end table beside him, looking down into Jim's upturned face, both men watching one another for a quiet moment. "You have far too little self-esteem Jim, it is confusing in contrast to your normal level of confidence." 

"People change, Spock," Jim admits. 

"Indeed." Reaching along the sofa behind Jim, Spock curls his hand in to brush an errant curl Jim's forehead, forcing it into the sweep of his hair with a single brush of his fingers that causes Jim's eyes to fall shut. 

"Don't..." Jim whispers, oddly pleading. 

"Why?" Spock asks, brown eyes almost black in the low light of the room, meeting blue.

"Because if you do, I don't think I'll be able to stop you." Jim swallows, causing his throat to click wetly. 

"Would you wish to stop me?" Spock asks cryptically, hoping he is following Jim's odd line of logic. 

"A part of me says I should, but the other part of me doesn't want to, no." Pulling away and rising from the sofa, Jim immediately misses the Vulcan's warmth against his shoulder and side. He shakes off the heavy atmosphere. "Just uh, let me think about it, yeah?" 

Spock doesn't move except for a nod when Jim looks back at him, though his gaze flickers down the length of Jim's body in an obvious manner he cannot miss, and causes a shudder to run down Jim's spine. "Would my time in San Francisco be enough for you to make a decision?" 

"Yes, ...no, I don't know Spock. Maybe." Jim decides, pushing a hand through his hair and disrupting the order Spock had put back into. 

Standing, Spock moves to push the grate into place against the hearth, effectively putting the fire to bed for the night, "I should be back in Riverside by Wednesday afternoon. Three days seems a logical length of time for you to decide whether we proceed or cease and desist." 

Jim's shoulders slump and he rubs a hand down the back of his neck, "Yeah, okay. I'll think about it, alright? I'm...going to go to bed. Good night, Spock." He is about to turn when Spock's hand sliding across the back of his shoulders makes him still. Turning, against his better judgement, he tenses for only a moment when Spock brushes his fingertips against his temples. Immediately, there comes the lethargy he finds familiar from a few nights ago and he blinks up at the Vulcan. "How did you-?" 

"Your mind is more familiar to me now that I have performed this process once, it is easier now." Spock replies before Jim can even fully form his question and there is gentleness in his gaze when Jim simply nods tiredly and moves towards the stairwell. "Good night, James." The words follow him up the steps and into bed. 

 

The following morning, Jim comes awake to realize he hadn't been awoken by any of David's nightmares and when he creeps from his room to quietly check on his son, it's to find him still asleep, and it is already past seven in the morning. It is a wonder, because usually David cannot sleep past six. Jim tends to his own needs in the bathroom and notices idly that Spock's toiletries bag is already missing from the counter where it had rested for some weeks now. The sight drags his mind unwittingly back towards their conversation of the night before, making him flush and his heart-rate rise as he steps out of the shower and towels off. Could Spock have really meant what he said? 

Naturally, Spock wasn't one to lie, at least not about this and he would deny any other form of deceit. Regardless, Jim is still hanging suspended in a state of shock as he dresses and moves downstairs towards the smell of coffee. Spock doesn't drink the stuff, so it's a surprise to find a pot already brewed and still hot in the machine when he gets to the kitchen. 

Pouring himself a mug, Jim is just turning around to survey the rest of the kitchen for Spock-like evidence when the back door opens and the object of his musings sweeps in with six half logs of firewood in his arms. "Oh, you didn't have to do that." Jim blinks, "Or this, for that matter." He indicates his mug of steaming coffee when Spock looks up at him. "Thank you." 

"I am finished packing and I thought to make use of my spare time here." Spock says dismissively and Jim realizes the hidden meanings in these words now, now that he knows Spock wants him to think about a deeper relationship between the both of them. He is easing some of the stress of daily life off Jim's shoulders, in the amount of time he still can while he is here, and the understanding of this makes Jim regard his coffee in touched silence.

"Are you hungry, I could make you something before you leave?" Jim offers idly, to which Spock replies from in the living room, his voice modulated to a quieter tone so he does not wake David, sleeping above them. 

"I have already eaten and had a cup of tea from your cupboards, thank you." 

Jim drifts into the living room like a wraith, feeling the formal awkwardness between them, the proverbial elephant in the room. "Okay." Wrapping both hands around his mug for warmth, Jim leans his hip against the back of the sofa, watching Spock arrange the logs of wood up against the lip of the hearth to be used as needed throughout the day. 

"I have also packed David's lunch for the afternoon. It is in the refrigerator." Straightening up, Spock pulls at the fingers of the workman's gloves he is wearing, the pair that Jim keeps on the kitchen counter by the back door so he can grab fresh wood throughout the day and not get a fresh splinter. Pulling the gloves off, Spock sets them on the coffee table and pauses with his hands at the lapels of his winter coat, noticing Jim's thousand- yard stare towards the living room window. 

"As stupid as it sounds, it's going to be weird going back to just the two of us here in the house," Jim admits, and he is shocked into longer silence when he sees a hint at a smile playing about Spock's lips. 

"Shall I assure you, as well as David, that I will be returning sooner, rather than later?" He tugs his jacket off and Jim notices he is once again wearing regulation clothes. The slim fitting black uniform tunic and aerodynamic and insulated slacks with the steel-toed boots. He hasn't seen Spock wear the outfit since his arrival in Iowa and the sight makes him consider things, things he really shouldn't be considering, things like how close those slacks fit against Spock's backside. Closing his eyes, Jim banishes those thoughts to the far recesses of his mind; for now. They'll go into the swank bank for later, he's sure. 

"No, I understand. I'm just saying that it's going to feel odd at first. I'll have to call Mrs. Harper for her help tonight, as well." Jim reaches down and takes Spock's jacket from his hand, letting it fall to drape over the back of the sofa. No point in hanging it up when Spock is planning on leaving in twenty minutes or so.

"Ah, yes. I do hope she drives well in the snow." Spock's lips twist in his version of disapproval.

"Spock, she's lived here in Iowa since she was fifteen, so she's seen more snow than you and I combined. She'll be fine." Then comes a sound from up stairs and both Spock and Jim move into the foyer to see a sleepy and tousled -looking David at the top of the stairs. 

"Hey champ," Jim says softly, "sleep good?" 

David is still rubbing his eyes but nods sleepily in reply, his blanket draped over his shoulders like a cape. "Is Mr. Spock leaving?" There is a sulk in those words that Jim can't miss. 

"Afraid so, but he'll be back in a few days, okay? Wanna come say goodbye?" Jim prompts his son and watches as the child trudges down the stairs, stopping on the second to last step and holding his arms out towards Spock in his usual plea to be picked up. It really shouldn't surprise Jim any longer, but Spock complies, leaning forward to sweep David up to eye level and casually bracing the child against his hip. 

Wrapping his arms around Spock's neck, David presses his face down into the Vulcan's shoulder and mutters, his words muffled by Spock's uniform; "Come back really fast, Mr. Spock. Okay?" He says with a sniff and Jim stoops to pick up his son's blanket from where it had fluttered to the floor.

"As fast as I might." Spock says solemnly, leaning his head back to look at David when the child releases him enough to meet his eyes, the both of them almost seeming to memorize one another before David is squirming and half sliding down Spock in order to reach the floor again. Setting David down, Spock falls into a crouch before the child and takes his chin in his hand to softly force David to look at him. "Make sure your father eats when you eat. Goodbye, David." 

"G'bye," David says, rubbing at his eyes again with the back of his hand, his lower lip already pushed out into a full-on pout.

Straightening, Spock picks up his duffel from beside the front door, a little heavier this time, since it is stuffed with some of his recently purchased heavier winter clothes. Jim steps forward and unlocks the door, opening it for him and handing David his blanket when the child shivers at the gust of cold winter air pushing into the house. Spock pauses just inside the door and catches Jim's gaze, unspoken words passing between them and Spock murmuring, "Goodbye Jim, I will see you when I return." 

Jim stands at the threshold, David crowding up behind his leg as they watch Spock descend the porch steps, making his way towards the rented ground car parked under the carport. The front gate is already open, Jim notices, and Spock has no trouble piloting the car down the driveway. It takes Jim a moment to realize he has been watching the corner of the road Spock's car had disappeared around for quite some time, David shivering at his side. Snapping himself out of it, Jim shoos David back into the house and closes the door behind them. 

"Alright kid, let’s get you set for school okay? You're already going to be late." Grunting, he swings David up into his arms and takes him into the kitchen, finding breakfast for his son and the packed lunch Spock had put together for David before leaving. The sight gives him pause, considering what his son would be eating. Spock had packed a yogurt, a sandwich (turkey even), a juice box, a bag of sliced apples, and one of the mini boxes of animal crackers from the cupboard. Smiling to himself, Jim places it all into David's lunch pail, putting it by the door with his son's backpack and going upstairs to find his child sitting in the middle of his room half- dressed and looking at the pictures of one of his books. 

"What are you doing, kid?" Jim sighs, finding the rest of David's clothes set out from the night before and squatting down to help David into them. "You don't have time to look at the pictures, okay?" 

"Spock read me this one." David says, still pouting as he flips through the pages, even while Jim struggles to get his arm into a sleeve of his shirt.

With a glance at the book, Jim reads the cover and stills. It's one of the books Jim and David had checked out from the library over a week ago and he reads the title aloud now, "'Little Polar Bear, Take me Home'." He swallows, remembering the premise of the sweet book about a baby polar bear helping a baby tiger get home. He sniffs and takes the book gently from David's hands. "I'll read it to you again tonight, if you would like. Okay? But right now, we've got to get going, okay kiddo?" Jim says, a little gruffly. They are sitting in the truck waiting for it to warm up when David hesitantly asks: 

"When is Mr. Spock coming back, Daddy?" 

"Wednesday, son. That's only two more days away." Jim tells him, smoothing his son's hair down before putting the truck into reverse and backing out into the yard to turn around. He follows the tracks in the snow made by Spock's car, trying not to think about it and instead coming up with things he can do to distract David in the short hours he has him before he leaves for work in the evening. He'll have to warn Mrs. Harper, suggest activities she can keep David busy with in his absence. But one look at David gazing out the window from his booster seat tells him there will be little chance of distracting him from thinking about his missing Vulcan friend.


	10. A Different Kind of Housewife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Spock is away in San Francisco taking care of ship's business, we get a peek into how life was for Jim and David before Spock's visit. Jim tries not to think about his last conversation with Spock the whole two days he is away and keep David distracted enough not to miss the Vulcan too terribly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am, with another promised update guys. This chapter might seem a little boring, I don't know. I decided to make it a little action-packed towards the end, so welcome to the new roller coaster that is Jim and David's life sans Spock. We never liked that truck anyway, right?  
> Also, as always, thank you so much to those of you who have read and commented on my little fic. I've appreciated every comment along the way and I've loved your guys' feedback and ideas. Don't hesitate with the theories guys!

That morning, after dropping David off at school, Jim finds himself driving further into town towards the strip. Probably no one else would call the main road through Riverside 'the strip', but Jim can't justify calling it downtown, either. He passes fast food restaurants, old mom and pop stores, novelty shops, the local feed store, and finally ends up parking in the nearly empty lot outside the local 'everything' store. It's really just a super store and Jim doesn't even remember the name of it half the time, only that he can buy toilet paper and new socks with just one stop. 

It's not snowing yet, but the lot hasn't been plowed from the snow that fell the night before, so Jim plods through shin-deep drifts past the employee's cars dusted in snow. It made Jim glad that at least he didn't work an overnight job like the super store workers. Although they had just opened an hour earlier Jim was blasted with hot air from the space heaters above the sliding doors on his way in; his boots squeaking obnoxiously across the linoleum floors as he snags a cart, just to lean on, and picks an aisle to wander down. At this time in the morning, and it being a Monday to boot, he is one of the only customers. The only other shoppers he passes are the occasional frazzled country housewife with kids, trying to talk on their phone to schedule appointments while keeping the kids from shoving their thumbs into the tomatoes or other such trouble. 

After a while, the music was starting to get on his nerves, the ragged piped in tunes from a radio station long past stale. He reaches into his back pocket and is thankful he hasn't moved his earbuds out of his inner coat pocket since last time he used them. He plugs them into his media player and hits the shuffle button, swiping through a few songs that don't quite cut it until he is satisfied. He hadn't ever been the type to enjoy Christmas music, but he could listen to it if he was somewhere he could tune it out, but in an empty story at seven in the morning, there wasn't much else to listen to. 

Reaching out, he swipes a few cans of beans off the shelf and into his shopping cart, realizing that, with Spock gone, he and David can indulge in some meat dinners, so he turns toward the meat counter. His mother had hated this place when it had been built and he remembered how she would drive twenty miles to the next town just to shop at a local market with prices she could deal with. With the super store's arrival, she had always complained how it had forced the local sellers and shops to raise their prices in order to compete. 

Was he seriously thinking about his mother when buying a shank of beef? Shaking his head, Jim goes back to selecting his essentials while side-stepping harried women with their shopping carts half out in the aisles and their hair in curlers. He feels rather well put- together, at least a little, when he compares himself to those mothers. At least he isn't trudging the aisles in his pajamas at this hour of the morning. 

With his cart half full of groceries, Jim transitions out of the food section of the store, wandering past racks of winter clothes going on sale just in time for the hard push of cold weather in Iowa. He considers a better pair of snow pants that were about David's size and plucks them from the rack, draping them over the side of his cart and continuing on. He had begun to think about what he was going to do for Christmas for David. He didn't have much to spend, just tips he had saved up and hadn't had to put into a minor repair on the truck earlier that fall. He had money, but a part of him was worried that he was going to need it for more pressing matters. He knew there was a portion of the roof in the back of the farm house that was showing signs of water damage but it hadn't started leaking through the ceiling yet. 

Given time, he knew there would be a million things demanding his money. David's school tuition was paid at the moment, but come the first of the year he would be expected to pay another lump sum for the next three months of his continued education. He had far more bills hanging over his head than he had ever had before in his life, including the payments he was making on David's last doctor's appointment when he had gotten his last booster shot. As someone without any intentions of raising a kid before having one suddenly revealed to you, Jim had never thought about all the little expenses it took to raise a child. Booster shots had definitely not been on his radar; that is until he had gotten the bill. 

Pausing at the mouth of an aisle of toys, Jim looks at the wildly colored selections stacked high along the shelves. There were more toys produced every year than there were kids to play with them and Jim hated to think it; when he was a kid he had played with sticks and rocks more than anything his mother or Frank had ever bought for him. Then again, they hadn't exactly been rolling in money back then either, and Jim's Christmas presents were clothes more often than not. 

Stopping, with his hands in his pockets, Jim stares at a box displaying what looks like a pen that writes in chocolate. That just seemed like the worst idea ever; what kid was actually going to draw with that thing? He would just sit down and eat from it like a push pop. Rolling his eyes, he scans the selections and finds that, after a while, they all start to look the same. Dolls, action figures, recording sets, and miniature instruments that aren't really for playing but play music for you when the buttons are pressed. Idly, he wonders what Spock would make of all of this; he would probably look just as he had when he had been watching Jim cobble together a Halloween costume for David. Then suddenly, he is thinking about Spock. He hadn't meant to, had come here and plugged into his music for the sole purpose of shutting everything else out of his life for one blissful moment. But he knows himself better than that, so he lets his mind go there. 

While reading the back of a box containing some kind of printed terrain mat and some build-able castle set pieces, Jim considers his problem. Spock was...well, in not so many words, he had asked him to think about going 'steady' with him. How many times in the past had he said the very same thing to a girl he dated in middle school, or even high school for that matter. However, he had quickly found out that serious relationships were not his forte. Looking back, Jim can't count the number of relationships he had spoiled, not with all his fingers and toes like he had taught David to do. It had always been his fault, had always been something he did wrong. Either he had been caught looking at another girl or had been simply talking to one without any intentions of going out with her. Or he had said something without thinking about it first, or been insensitive or distant. A small, terrified part of him is positive that he hasn't changed. What are the possibilities that he won't screw this up with Spock? 

Dropping the box of 'True Heroes Military Play-set' into his cart, he continues further down the aisle, picking up a boxed set of larger Legos for kids David's age and setting them in the cart as well. He pauses to switch through his songs a few more times and without the preoccupation of selecting toys, his thoughts wander back to Spock.

There is the point, of course, that David already likes Spock. In fact, he gets the feeling sometimes that David would rather be spending his time with the Vulcan rather than his own father. But Jim doesn't mind, not when he had begun to notice the simple and easy patience his friend had with his son. Spock's admission to caring for the child had driven the point home and Jim couldn't even begin to deny that David had grown attached to Spock. In some ways, that was very bad, because Spock wasn't always going to be around and soon enough it would just be Jim and David again. 

But, on the other hand, Jim could definitely use the help and support when he was around. He was sure there were things Spock hadn't been telling him about, situations he had dealt with caring for David when Jim was out at work. Because surely there had been more nightmares than Spock had told him about, more strained conversations like the ones Jim had had with David about his insecurities. David was a good kid, but in a lot of ways he had been made fragile both physically and emotionally by his mother's death. But Spock had seemed comfortable with David, hadn't seemed at all uneasy with his emotionalism, even though surely it was an uncommon experience for the Vulcan, given the fact that he hadn't spent much time around human children. 

Checking the time, Jim mutters a soft curse under his breath and turns his cart toward the check- out stands. With Spock gone, it has also fallen among his list of responsibilities to take care of the kitten, and it was about time for the runt to be fed. Just before he reaches the check- out stands, Jim passes the last aisle of toys and sees a miniature tool set complete with a little blue plastic carrying case. He deliberates, looking at the toys he had already put in his cart, biting his lip and letting his heart and desire to see David happy and excited for Christmas rule, Jim tips the case into his cart and keeps going. 

When he has finished unloading everything onto the old fashioned conveyor belt, he opens his wallet and gives an awkward nod to the young checker. She looks about a day over eighteen and she doesn't try to make conversation with Jim, until he realizes he still had his earbuds in. When the total comes up, he swipes his card and waits. Both he and the checker wait a while and the girl frowns, pushing some buttons, "I'm sorry sir, but it says here your card was declined?" 

Jim feels heat rising up the back of his neck to burn his ears and cheeks and he ducks his head, awkwardly shuffling his thumb through his cards and credit chips. He has barely any money in his savings account at the moment, he knows, so he shuffles out all his credit chips and tries to think which one isn't close to being maxed out yet. Biting his lip, he swipes another, holding his breath and feeling his shoulders slump with a wave of relief when the receipt begins to print and the girl gives him a long and unimpressed look when passing it to him. He mutters a 'thank you' under his breath, lifting his bags back into the cart before realizing at the door that he is going to have to carry it all to the truck because the snow was far too deep for a cart to push through. Groaning, he loads his arms up with bags and trudges out to the truck, making a mental note in his head of the days left until his next pay day. 

Back at home, he finishes putting the grocery bags away and warms a small bottle of the milk replacement in the microwave for Snowy. There is a tiny mewling sound at his feet when he takes it out and with a sigh, he scoops the kitten up in one hand and carries her out into the living room. Sitting on the sofa, he feeds the cat and tries not to think about how fast his allergic reaction will set in or how far away his medicated hypo-spray is upstairs. Instead, he thinks again about what he will say to Spock when he comes back to Iowa. 

"What do you think...?" He asks softly, looking down at Snowy, half raised on her back two legs with her front paws scrabbling at the sides of the bottle up-ended in Jim's hand. "Should I tell him I can't?" The thought of telling Spock no was an uncomfortable one. Not only might it stunt their friendship, but Jim was beginning to realize that he would regret not at least trying. Their friendship, as far as he was concerned, was already ruined and could never be like it was before on the Enterprise, where they had both ignored any other possibilities between them. If Jim accepted, however, where would they go from this point? Spock would be leaving after the first of the year, back into space on the ship that Jim had used to call his own, leaving Jim grounded and alone again. He wasn't asking for sympathy or hand outs, he simply missed the kind of companionship he had had on the Enterprise. He missed his old life, even if he wouldn't change his decision given the chance. 

After making himself lunch and grimacing through a dosed hypo-spray to the neck, he gets back into the truck and drives himself back into town to pick David up from school. He is waiting outside of the truck for his son when it comes to him: What did Spock believe he was going to say? If he put himself in the Vulcan's logical position, he would probably be leaning towards a denial. If Spock was assuming he could very well be shot down, what kinds of thoughts could possibly be going through his mind back in San Francisco right now? He feels a little stupid thinking like that, because surely Spock has more important things on his mind, like the refit of the Enterprise. But he can't help but wonder what Spock is thinking about in his spare time. 

If their positions were reversed, Jim can think of a few ways he might try to convince Spock or the other partner to consider him as a companion. God, he hopes Spock won't try to convince him in some romantic or sappy way as he might have, because what chance will he have of saying no then? Is he going to say no? He still isn't any closer to an answer for that question by the time he sees David's pale blonde head bobbing around with his other classmates who have been let out for pick up. He has a laminated card with a number and a name on it that he holds up for display when he enters the crowd of kids to get David, pausing so they can be checked off a teacher's list before he takes David's hand and leads his son across the parking lot. "Hey kid, how was school?" 

David is looking down at his feet traipsing through the slushy snow melt when he replies, "Really bad." 

"Why's that?" Jim prompts with a grunt, lifting his son up to balance against his hip as he unlocks the passenger side of the truck cab. 

"Because," David mutters, sounding like he is about to have a good old-fashioned sulk, "Mr. Spock isn't here and you have to work and I'll have to sit with Mrs. Harper while she knits and watches boring shows on the TV." 

Smiling a little to himself, Jim buckles David into his booster seat, setting his backpack and lunch pail down on the seat beside his son. He doesn't reply until he has gone around to climb into the driver's side seat, "Mr. Spock will be back by Wednesday, buddy. Just one more day of school and two more nights to sleep away before you'll see him again, alright?" 

"I know..." David mutters , staring out the window at the passing cars as Jim drives the truck out onto the main road. "But Mrs. Harper doesn't read my books like Mr. Spock does." 

"Oh yeah? How does Mr. Spock read your books then?" Jim can't help but feel a little curious, for he has never heard Spock read to David. 

"He tells me about the animals in the books, or why some of them don't make any sense." David says, casting Jim a grin. 

"I bet most of your books don't make any sense to him, David." He replies, smirking now. "But I'm sure Mrs. Harper could read them like that to you if you asked her." 

"It wouldn't be the same...she makes all the characters have stupid voices instead." David groans, in a full-on sulk now. 

Perhaps Jim would have to have a short talk with the neighbor woman;, she was used to taking care of her own grandchildren, but David was a little different from most kids in that he didn't like to be treated or talked to like he was a baby. Another thing which Jim had noticed Spock had picked up on right away, not to mention that Jim couldn't possibly see the Vulcan having any tendency or desire to molly-coddle David. 

"I got beef for dinner." Jim tries by way of changing topics, hoping to distract David from his displeasure. It only works a little. 

"Can we have tacos?" David asks, swinging his feet so they tap against the underside of the glove box. 

"Tacos? Have you ever even had a taco before?" 

"No, but we learned about Mexico today and they eat tacos." One hopeful look from David is convincing enough. 

"Alright, we'll have tacos." Jim concedes. 

 

Later that night when Jim is leaving for work, Mrs. Harper hovering in the foyer and waiting to lock up behind him, Jim squats down in front of David and takes his wrists in his hands, "You be good for Mrs. Harper, alright? I know she isn't Mr. Spock, but she means well," he drops his voice to whisper, "be nice to old ladies, okay? They don't know any better." 

With a sullen nod, David snakes his arms around Jim's neck, hugging him goodbye until Jim pulls away gently and scruffs his hair lightly. "I'll see you in the morning, kiddo." 

When he comes home a little after eleven, Mrs. Harper is snoring in front of the television set, her knitting having fallen to the floor at some point and now acting as some kind of attractant to Snowy, who is batting and swatting at pieces of yarn with a mess of it tangled up nearby. Jim swallows a groan and stoops to gather up the mess of yarn, dropping it into Mrs. Harper's knitting bag and hoping she won't notice its disarray until she gets home. 

When he closes the door behind her a little while later, its half past eleven and he is more tired than he can ever remember feeling. His thoughts drift towards how relaxing it was those nights Spock had put him into a drowsy, trance-like state and he yearns for that peace now as he plods up the stairs, shutting off lights as he goes. Upstairs, it's already dark and he peers into David's room for a moment, listening. But clearly he isn't in the middle of a nightmare, so Jim retires to his room and checks his personal data PADD for any emails or messages from the places in town he has been applying to since before August. He finds nothing, that is until he checks his voice messages and finds the notification blinking slowly. He taps the one dated for earlier that afternoon and feels his breath halt behind his lips when a familiar face looks up at him from his screen. 

"Jim, it is approximately ten-fifteen your time and I have reached San Francisco safely. I know you did not ask, but I thought perhaps you might show David this message and he may take some comfort in it. Let him know that it will only be an estimated fifty-two hours, twenty minutes, and seventeen seconds before I return to Riverside, " The image of Spock shakes a little and Jim realizes that he must be on some kind of public transport in San Francisco, recognizing the dull, steel grey background behind Spock's head as being one of the tube train's bulk heads. "I also realize that I left the care of the kitten to you James, for that I apologize. Perhaps you could teach David how to perform the feedings on his own." The image of Spock shifts his eyes away from the screen and an electronic voice drones in the background wordlessly, announcing a stop Jim can't manage to hear, "I must go, farewell." With that, the message ends and Jim swallows, taking a shallow breath. It's a weird feeling, to get a message from someone you have been thinking about non-stop all day, even against your best efforts not to.

Placing the data PADD on his nightstand, he strips off his uniform slacks and white shirt, tossing them towards his laundry hamper and making another mental note, when they slide off the pile and onto the floor, that he needs to do laundry soon. Crawling between his icy sheets, he shivers and pulls the blankets clear up to his chin, gritting his teeth until he warms up after a little while. He is just beginning to drift off when he hears a soft patter of steps on the landing outside his door. Sucking in a long breath, he turns over and wipes a hand down his face, blinking and squinting hard at the darkened rectangle that is his open doorway to see David hovering there. "What is it David?" He asks in a whispering voice, watching as David shuffles in his jammied feet until the moonlight from the unshaded window falls across him as he stands in the middle of the room. He is holding his blankie in a strangled clutch of his fists and his eyes are round and dark in the gloom of the bedroom. "Can't sleep?" 

David doesn't speak but gives a slow nod of his head, his eyes dropping away from Jim's line of sight. "C'mon," Jim grunts, rolling onto his back and dragging the corner of his sheets back so David can crawl into his bed, "get in." He offers, letting David climb up onto his mattress dragging his blanket behind him. Settling in again, Jim slides an arm under his pillow and rolls onto his hip once again, tucking the blanket in against David's other side. "You want to see something?" He asks, reaching over David's head toward the nightstand and turning on his data PADD. He squints at the bright light, as does David, but he plays Spock's message for him just the same and has David repeat the hours and minutes, subtracting two hours when he notes the time. "Only fifty hours now." He says, brushing David's hair back off his forehead and stretching over to put the PADD back down beside the bed. 

"Daddy?" David's small voice penetrates the darkness a little while later, dragging Jim back out of a light doze. 

"Hm?" He waits, listening. 

"What does Santa bring Vulcans for Christmas?" 

Thinking for a moment, Jim feels too tired to explain to David that Vulcan's don't exactly celebrate Christmas, besides it will only confuse him when Spock turns up to celebrate with them. So instead, he mutters tiredly the only thing that comes to mind, "I don't know...maybe ear-warmers." He grumbles; yawning. 

Wrapping his arm over David, Jim leeches the warmth off his son and falls asleep, each of them lulled by the others breathing until they are awoken the next morning by Jim's alarm. Jim wakes with a start at the sound, scaring David into waking up as well. He sits up on one elbow to slam the side of his fist down on the alarm, the annoying sound ceasing. 

Rubbing his eyes, David sits up and lets out a small whine of frustration. "I'm still tired Dad..." He mutters with a sigh, pulling his blanket around his shoulders and flopping back onto the bed, rolling away to smash his face into the pillow and jerking half the blankets off of Jim. 

"Me too, but you'll have to wait for nap time later at school. C'mon, we've gotta get up." Stifling a yawn, Jim climbs out over David and scoops his child up by the waist, draping him sack-style across his shoulder and effectively waking his son up as he squirms and giggles infectiously all the way to his room. Jim puts him down and starts pulling clothes out for him to wear for the day. Still in his boxers, Jim shivers as he sets a pair of jeans and a thick sweater out for David on his bed. "Get dressed David. What do you want for breakfast?" 

"Cereal." David decides, his reply half lost in the knit of his sweater tugged half way down over his head.

"Well, I couldn't have asked for an easier kid..." Jim says, crouching to help David wrestle his way into the tight fitting sweater. Pushing David's hair back, Jim plants a kiss against his warm forehead before standing, "We've got to get your hair cut today too, so don't get too muddy on the playground today, okay?" 

"But we're playing robots and superheroes today!" David complains.

"Well, you'll just have to play something else then. Princesses and babies maybe." Grinning at the very strong negative reply he gets at his suggestion, Jim leaves David to finish getting ready so he can put on some warmer clothes himself. Downstairs, he pours cereal into a bowl and adds milk, peeking up the stairs to make sure David is almost done in the bathroom. When he finds the bathroom empty however, he checks every room until he finds his son trying to unlock his data PADD by the bed. "Hey, what are you doing?" Frowning, Jim takes his PADD from his son and unlocks it with a sweep of his thumb. 

"I just, I just...I just wanna see Mr. Spock again Daddy?" David requests in a small voice, fidgeting on his feet. 

Jim's shoulders sink a little and he sits down on the edge of the bed, bringing up the voice messaging application and selecting yesterday's message. Reaching down, he hauls David up to sit on the edge of the bed beside him and lets David hold the device as he watches Spock's message. Picking his son up, he carries both David and the PADD downstairs and plops him in front of his bowl of cereal with a simple command, "Eat." He points at the bowl and hands David a spoon. 

The message keeps David occupied the entire time Jim is putting his son's lunch together and he is still watching it when Jim puts David's snow clothes on. He is wrapping the scarf around David's neck when he finally has to take the PADD back. "Alright son, I'm sorry but this has to stay at home. You can watch it again later if you want, but you've got school." He half expects there to be a tantrum, something to indicate David's age and show some of the behavior children are known for. But instead, David just sits in his booster seat in the truck and counts on his fingers. He gets to twenty seven and gets stuck, looking up at Jim in the driver's seat. 

"How many hours, Daddy?" He asks, his fingers half curled and stuck up with two down and eight straight out; half way through counting. 

Jim thinks for a moment, "Forty-five hours, David."

David lets out a long groan, "So long..." He grumbles. 

"It'll fly by, you always complain how fast your bedtime comes every night; it will only make Mr. Spock seem to come back faster." Jim says, trying to sound encouraging, even though a small part of him wishes he had a little longer to think of an answer for Spock. 

"I guess so." David concedes, but he doesn't sound at all happy about it. 

Later that afternoon when Jim goes to pick David up from school, rather than taking him home right away, he takes his son to the local barber shop and sits by the windows and watches David have his hair cut by an old man; coincidentally the same old man who used to cut James' hair when he was David's age. After some short directions, Jim watches David end up with the same military style haircut Jim had kept his in for Starfleet until about a year ago. Now that he is no longer a captain, Jim has let his own hair grow out, getting a little wavy and unruly like it was wont to do. His sideburns were no longer cut to precise points either, but David's were now and Jim couldn't help but laugh when David felt man enough to ask for Jim's credit chip to pay for himself. He let David swipe the chip through the machine, signing for him. "C'mon little man, time to get back to our ship." He said, laughing again when David paused outside their truck to comment: 

"Man, Dad...our ship is a rust-bucket!" 

"Where on Earth did you hear that term?" Jim asks as he buckles David into his booster seat. 

"Tamera at school says that's what our truck is." David informs, at which Jim frowns as he considers the meaning behind that reply. It seemed David's classmates were getting their opinions from their parents, and Jim couldn't say he had exactly felt welcomed as a parent attending conferences. It seemed their disapproval of him was rubbing off onto their kids, and Jim couldn't say he was too pleased with that. Let those parents judge him, but not his son. 

They drive without conversation with only the radio playing cheery Christmas music as their company. They pass a few signs that catch Jim's attention and he checks the time on his watch to be sure he has time before work to entertain David. He had thought of a few things that might keep his son's attention off of Spock's absence and ice-skating had been one he had considered heavily. They park along the side of the road outside the old abandoned parking lot outside the closed mini-mart that had shut down long before Jim had ever left Riverside. Now, the locals liked to flood the lot with water from the local fire truck, letting it freeze into a make-shift skating rink in the winter. They aren't disappointed when Jim gets out and sets David on the pavement; a few kids out of school early are already skating around the fenced lot, a pair of older people standing nearby with hot cocoa under a tent against the front of the closed mini-mart.

Reaching into the bed of his truck, Jim tugs out his old pair of skates and a smaller kid's set he had bought used from the feed store when he had been there with Spock. Taking David's shoes off, Jim wiggles his son's feet into the skates on the curb next to the lot, putting his own on closer to the ice so all he must do is lift David up and step onto the ice. He pushes off with his other foot on the pavement, sliding around into a slow glide as he turns into the momentum, sliding backward on the ice and putting David down on his unsteady feet. Gripping David's hands, he holds onto him and totes him behind as he skates from side to side in an area of the ice clear of other people. 

"Dad!" David shakes and flails, gripping Jim's hands tightly with his mittened ones. "I'm scared!" 

"It's alright, I've got you." Jim assures him, staying bent forward and slowly skating backward in a circle, pulling David along with him. "Move your feet like you're shuffling, like that. See?" He demonstrates, letting go of one of David's hands in an effort to get him to try, which only results in David clamoring for purchase on his pant leg instead. Chuckling, he falls to a squat, letting his weight slide them over the ice slowly. "You push off with your back foot, like this." Standing, he shifts to be alongside David, still gripping his hands in one of his and pushing off the ice with his feet, gliding them forward a little faster until the wild look seems to pass from David's blue eyes. He becomes confident enough a little while later to let one of his hands fall to his side, the one still clutching at Jim's fingers tightly. "Take little steps, okay?"

After improving a little over the course of a good hour, Jim sees David beginning to grow tired and lifts him up into his arms, minding his sharp skates, "Do you want to go fast?" Jim asks with a grin. 

"Yeah Daddy, go fast!" David pleads, holding onto his knitted stocking hat by the strings as Jim holds his son with one arm and uses the other for balance, inclining his weight forward and racing across the outside of the iced parking lot. He skates until the wind of their speed sweeps their hair back, David's hat fluttering to the ice behind them. Giggling and screaming, David wraps his arms around Jim's neck tightly, watching excitedly as all the other skaters whiz by them, and especially when Jim whips around to skate backward and into an abrupt circle next to their lost hat. Bending down, Jim scoops it up off the ice then takes them back to the lip of the road where ice ends to put David down on the curb, stooping to unlace his skates. 

"That was fun!" David says brightly, eyes shining and face flushed. "Can we do it again, Daddy?" 

"Maybe later and we can bring Mr. Spock along, how's that sound?" He's forgotten that he shouldn't mention Spock at the moment, but it doesn't seem to bother David, who agrees heartily and skips back to their truck at Jim's side. 

He goes to work later that evening feeling a little more weary, realizing that he hadn't thought much about his dilemma with Spock. It leads to him having a bit of a rough night at the tavern, hearing one of the patron's orders wrong and handing them the wrong drink. Thankfully it doesn't escalate to blows, but Jim ends up having to give a portion of his tips to cover a free beverage for the guy, and he can practically hear the funds leaving from his savings when he mixes the man his drink. 

It's on his way home that he sinks into reverie again, thinking about what Spock had said to him. There had been that almost moment between them, the point at which Jim could tell he could have kissed his Vulcan friend and finally known what it would feel like. It is almost embarrassing to think about, him mooning over someone like he is a kid in school again. He is thinking about the possibility of a long distance relationship and how that could fail, so he doesn't see the deer step out in front of his truck a short ten feet from him. By the time his eyes register the threat his body has reacted, jerking the wheel so hard it sends him into a tail spin. He should have known better, what with the majority of the truck's weight being in the front, but he doesn't have time to compensate for his knee-jerk reaction. 

Before he knows it, with the white spin of scenery outside the windshield before his eyes and fear clenching his heart so hard it steals his breath, the truck slides down into the ditch with a crunch of metal and the shattering of glass. Shards rain down over his lap and he tries to shield his eyes as the impact knocks him silly against the driver's side window. Pain tears through his head and shoulder, wrenching his neck painfully. "Shit..." He hisses, disoriented by a ringing buzzing loudly in his ears. 

Blinking away the fog from his panicked breathing, Jim tries the door at his side and finally gets it open with a shove from his bruised shoulder. He half falls out into the snow after finding the latch for his safety belt. He sits up on his arms and knees, trying to catch his breath on the embankment and looking over his shoulder at his truck. He had been damn lucky and he notices now that the tree line here had caught his truck and kept it from sliding down to the ravine some feet below. If there had not been any trees, the truck would have rolled and rather than being scraped up, he could have been knocked unconscious and possibly froze to death out here alone. 

With the threat of what could have been before his eyes, Jim lets relief weaken him as he sits up in the snow, looking up at the road five paces above him. This stretch of road hadn't had a proper guard rail for as long as he had ever known and he sees the danger of it now, cursing softly under his breath and struggling back up to the road. His truck is steaming below him and he wipes a numb hand down over his face, hissing in pain when his fingers encounter a gash from the broken window. Shivering from the shock and the cold, Jim turns in the direction of his home, estimating it might take him some twenty or thirty minutes to walk that distance in this level of snow. He fumbles about in his pockets, looking for his communicator. He drops it in the snow when he finally manages to get it out of his pocket, cursing when he sees the screen is cracked. He tries to bring up his list of contacts anyway, but it won't operate correctly. 

Trudging through the snow, Jim wraps a hand around his sore arm, already feeling frozen as he leaves his truck behind and sticks to the side of the road. No cars pass him on the way, not at this late hour, so he is thoroughly numbed by the time he reaches his driveway. He fumbles his keys on the porch, his fingers pure ice and apparently he takes so long that Mrs. Harper gets the door open before he can get the key into the lock, his hands shaking too badly to do it properly. 

"Oh my God," She exclaims, "what happened to you? Are you alright? My God..." She fusses over him as he stumbles into the house, his face on fire when warm air hits his bare skin. Flexing his fingers, he begins to shiver more violently and the old lady forces him onto the sofa.

"I uh...I crashed the truck," Jim mutters, his voice gruff and cracked from the dry, cold air outside. "There was a deer." Tugging his snow-caked clothes off one by one, he gets down to his slacks and shirt, sliding forward on his knees to turn and sit with his back nearly right up against the fireplace.

Returning to him with a cup of hot tea from the kitchen, Mrs. Harper kneels next to him on the rug and holds a damp dish towel up to his face, pressing its warm into his wound and causing him to wince. "Those damn deer..." She mutters, "cause more accidents then they're worth sometimes. At least you're alright, why didn't you call?" 

"My comm. is dead." Jim mutters, chucking the useless thing onto the coffee table. 

"Dear, this thing is really starting to bleed," Mrs. Harper fusses, her tone thick with worry and warning as she pulls the dish towel away from his face. "The cold must have slowed it some, but you may need stitches now, and I've never had to do those before. Not on a person's flesh." She grimaces and Jim takes the towel from her, pressing it to the side of his face again.

"Don't worry about it, thank you though." He says, "you should head home, I've kept you up late enough as it is." It hurts to try and twist his head to look up at the clock above him, so he doesn't try, although he's certain it's after midnight by now. 

"Don't be stupid," Mrs. Harper snaps, "and leave you here with a possible concussion? No sir, I'll stay on the couch if I have to. Do you need to go to hospital?" 

"No, I'm fine. If I had had a concussion I wouldn't have been able to walk straight before. I'll just go to bed, thanks." Getting up is a painful thing, but he forces one foot in front of the other on his way up the stairs, knowing his neighbor is fussing at him from the bottom as she watches him go. 

In the bathroom, Jim gets a better look in the mirror and winces at his own image reflected back at him. There is a lengthy gash curling from his temple down to his cheek that he can see when he pulls the towel away from his skin, blood making it stick to the cloth painfully. He already has a bruise forming under that eye and when he drags his shirt open and over his injured shoulder he can see a mottling of purple already spreading across the point of his shoulder and down over his bicep. He is thankful David is asleep already and won't see the state he is in, knowing it would only stir him into a panic. The kid panicked whenever Jim even got a nose bleed. 

Sitting on the edge of the bath tub, Jim manages to clean the cut on his face, putting a plaster over it and hoping that will hold it until morning. He'll go to the local clinic after he takes David to school in the morning, have a doctor take a look at it, and see if they can seal it without stitches. If Bones were here, it would be a simple matter of a dermal re-generator, but most places way out here didn't have those kinds of advanced machines. 

Rolling into bed a half hour later, Jim groans and keeps to his uninjured side, feeling sore all over and exhausted. So tired, in fact, that he doesn't hear his own alarm until a hand prods him in the back later. When he turns over with a wince, it's to find a confused David looking back at him. It seems his alarm had been going for so long that David had heard it clear across the hall and come to investigate when it hadn't been shut off. "Sorry..." He grumbles, gritting his teeth in pain when he manages to sit up and shut the alarm off. 

"Daddy...your face," David gasps, eyes round and full of shock. "It's bleeding." 

Reaching up, Jim touches the bandage over his cut and finds it damp, muttering under his breath as he stands and walks immediately into the bathroom, David hot on his heels. "Daddy, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" 

"I'll be fine, go to your room for a moment." He hopes there is enough command in his tone to make David obey, but it seems the child's worry wins out as he hovers at the mouth of the bathroom, watching until Jim closes the door and peels the bandage off his face. Turning his head, he shifts to get a better look at it and runs a cloth under the tap to wash some of the dried blood off his cheek. No doubt his pillow case would be stained... 

"Daddy!" With David's fists beating on the door, Jim hangs his head and groans, knowing he needs to calm his son down but also aware that with his face still bleeding, his assurances won't mean much. So he quickly slaps a new bandage over his cut and runs a damp hand through his hair, opening the door to David's pounding fists and catching them in his hands when his son is thrown off balance. 

"Hey, hey, calm down! I'm fine, it's okay, alright?" Sinking to his knees, he pins David's flailing arms to his sides and forces him to listen and look at him, "I'm okay, I'm not going anywhere and everything is going to be fine. Well, besides the fact that you're late for school." Jim grumbles, reaching up to wipe the tears off his son's cheeks. "Remember that old rust bucket we had?" 

"You mean the truck?" David whimpers. 

"Yeah. Well, it looks like we'll be needing a new car. Daddy crashed it last night saving a deer." Rather than embarrassed, he tries to spin it into a heroic tale, but it doesn't really seem to matter either way to David. The child crumples into Jim's lap, wrapping his arms around Jim's torso and burying his face in his father's chest. 

"You're not gonna die?" He whines. 

"I'm not going to die..." Jim murmurs, sliding a hand over his son's head and rocking him, a hand on the boy's back. "I'm just going to be a little sore for a few days, that's all. I'm glad that you weren't with me." Sighing, he doesn't let himself reflect on that horrifying thought that had come to his mind that night. 

"Don't die Dad..." David whispers tearfully. Jim's shoulders hit the back of the cabinets under the sink and he slowly and painfully stretches his legs out in front of him, dragging David forward to rest more fully in his lap and cradling his son over his chest. 

"Hey, look at me?" Jim nudges David's shoulder, waiting for his son to comply and looking down into watery blue eyes. "I'll be careful not to die, okay? We'll get a safer car and I'm trying to find a better job so I can be with you in the evenings instead of Mrs. Harper. Okay? There's no need for tears right now, in fact you should be stoked we're going to get a new car." Jim can't imagine how he'll manage it, but there has been one last resort he has been putting off calling on. He could ask his mother for a loan, as much as he'd loathe doing so. But he can't imagine, with his credit history as of late, being able to get a car with his own money. Not unless he tears into his savings fund, which he had been using to pay for David's school fees. 

David sniffles, sitting back on his heels and wiping his eyes, "What...kind of car?" 

"One like Mr. Spock's, they do better in the snow." Jim admits, letting David imagine something fancier than they'll probably end up with. If it makes him feel safe, who is he to judge?

"Do I have to go to school today?" David asks softly after a while, the two of them still sitting on the bathroom floor, Jim being reluctant to move with the pain in his head and shoulder encouraging him not to move. 

"Well, seeing as how you'll be missing almost half of it by the time I get you there and we wait for a cab from in town? No, I don't think I'm going to be taking you to school today. Will you bring me the land line so I can call your teacher?" 

"Yeah." Getting up off the bathroom floor, David squeezes out through the cracked bathroom door and Jim takes a moment to gather himself during his absence.

He could very well have been killed last night and the thought leaves an acrid taste in his mouth and a sick feeling in his stomach. What would happen to David should he die? Were one of Carol's relatives listed as the next of kin? Jim didn't exactly have a will of his own; he had waved a lot of the legalities when he had gone into Starfleet and he hadn't seen a need for it until now. Spock had been right about that truck, it wasn't safe and he had been ignoring the dangers of it simply because he had no money with which to get something safer. That problem still remained, but now he had the shame to go with it. God, what would Spock say when he found out? 

He blinked, realizing that the man was due back today and he was still no closer to coming to a decision about their relationship status than he had been when the Vulcan had left. For some reason, a tiny knot in his stomach was telling him that Spock was going to be beyond mad at him, perhaps even the worst kind of mad a Vulcan could get. Spock had been pissed before, even if he would have never admitted to it, Jim had felt the iciness of being closed off from his friend in the past. But this...would he feel more entitled to releasing some out of character rage at Jim now? It wasn't as if Jim were his responsibility, he had never been his responsibility, even if Spock had liked to think so once upon a time. His head is spinning by the time David returns with the home phone, and Jim closes his eyes a moment before dialing, resting his head back against the cabinets.

"Dad?" David pokes his leg with his toes, "Are you sick?" 

"No... But Mr. Spock is going to kill me when he sees what I've done to that truck." He smirks, laughing at the confused look on his son's face. "I won't tell him if you won't." Jim grins, lightly pinching his son's round cheek to get him to smile.


	11. Collisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock returns to Riverside to a bit of a situation, with Jim looking a fright and David's excitement to see him once again. While tending to Jim's injuries, Spock and Jim finally have that conversation they have been putting off for far too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it guys, the crux of the story! I toyed with it a lot in my head before I wrote it, staying awake until early hours of the morning acting out scenarios in my head and hearing conversations from both sides. But I finally wrote it all down, and hopefully it's everything you guys have hoped for and expected. I'm still being realistic about this plot, however, so don't expect any sudden, huge changes in their situation. After all, the best thing in a new relationship is to take things slow. 
> 
> Also, thank you guys so much for all your amazing comments. I have some of the best readers ever and you guys motivate me every day to keep with this fic and finish it to the end. I don't think I would have come this far in the story without you guys. So thank you! =]
> 
> Also, if any of you are talented or inspired artists, I would absolutely love fanart of this fic. Just putting the option out there! =P

Spock had never thought he would ever forget the cold of Iowa, and yet when he steps outside the terminal in Des Moines, an involuntary shudder rattles his spine, causing him to zip his winter jacket all the way up to his throat and tug his hat down a little lower over his head. He squints up at the sky overhead, taking in the grey and cloudy scenery threatening to dump another foot of snow at any time. The streets of Des Moines have been properly plowed, however, so he has no trouble in his drive out of the city. It is only when he later hits the outskirts of Riverside that he has to switch from manual to auto-pilot, letting the car pilot itself over the snow at a lower speed. It gives him a chance to reflect on the last few days he had to himself back in California. 

He had touched down in San Francisco late Monday morning to insidious rain, and had left his winter attire on while he took the tube train towards Starfleet HQ. He had reported in with Mr. Scott and set up a meeting time for later that afternoon, which left him plenty of time to make inquiries of a more personal nature. Rather than return to his bare and empty apartment at the East end, Spock had remained at headquarters, setting up appointments to meet with some of the financial officers and corporate image staff. 

He hadn't exactly known what he had been planning in order to solve Jim's pension problem, but he knew that any hint of a threat could put the gears in motion in Jim's favor. Surely if the public or media found out that Earth's favorite hero wasn't receiving compensation for his efforts, as his former bridge crew was, there would be questions Starfleet officials would surely wish to avoid. Questions, for example, regarding the treatment of exemplary officers, regardless of their discharge or employment status. The world owed something to Jim Kirk, and Spock wasn't going to let them forget it. His days spent in a rainy San Francisco had consisted of meetings with the Admiralty and with the Chief Financial Officer, in accordance with the ethic's department. Spock had split his days between two sets of responsibilities; that of his ship and bridge crew, and that of Jim's financial issues. 

Now, sitting in the rental car provided once again by Starfleet, Spock recalled the short conversation he had had with Admiral Pike upon his arrival in the city. Pike had been one of the first individuals to meet with him, having expected his return for supervision of the Enterprise's refit in Space-dock. There was no denying the Admiral's disappointment upon hearing Spock's account regarding the reasons for Jim's resignation from Starfleet. Spock had no qualms about telling the man the truth; after all, he had been the sole recruiting officer responsible for bringing Jim into Starfleet and mentoring him. Actions motivated by his prior relationship with George Kirk Senior. However, the Admiral had recovered quickly after hearing Spock's explanation, asking questions about David and Jim's well-being. When Spock had told him about Jim's denied pension, Admiral Pike had been rightfully incensed and had spent a considerable amount of time railing about the injustices and imperfections of Starfleet's system. Spock had only to sit there and listen, knowing he would have an advocate on Jim's side in the Admiral. 

Slivers of that conversation return to him, reminding him of the rage in evidence across Admiral Pike's features as he had spoken, "Spock, in all my years in Starfleet, never have I heard of such a gross abuse of an upstanding officer. Starfleet likes to paint their heroes in gold while they still serve, and yet they seem to be forgotten the moment they are out of the limelight. Jim left under ambiguous circumstances, without a stated reason for his resignation, and it caused a lot of the more suspicious ranking officers to see him as a PR threat. What do you say when the media asks you why Starfleet's best and brightest up and quit in your biggest hour of need?" 

Seeing Spock's frown, he had continued hurriedly to say, "Don't get me wrong, Spock...I'm not blaming him for leaving. If I had found out that I had a five year-old kid I had never known about, I would have ditched everything to go meet them too. Jim's situation is grim, I agree with that...but it's going to take more than a few heads rolling to get things straightened out. Let me see what I can do on my end." 

Spock had almost had to stay a day later than planned and had been close to calling Jim on his communicator that morning, but much to his surprise, he had gotten a phone call just before his departure for head-quarters that had resulted in much relief and justified satisfaction on his part. 

Reaching into his inner coat pocket, Spock withdraws the envelope that had been delivered to him personally. He had already checked its contents, wanting to be certain that Jim was not simply receiving another denial--and he reread the contents now, unable to control the smug expression forming across his lips as he read the time-stamped missive again. This...would be his Christmas gift to Jim. 

In his hurry to leave San Francisco's rain, Spock had not thought to call Jim and warn him of his early departure, and it seems rather late to do so now as he pulls into Jim's drive way some hours later. It is just after noon and for a moment he deliberates out in the snow, staring at the empty spot where Jim's truck usually sat. Was he not home, but rather in town after dropping David off at school? Is David even in school with the snow warning in effect today? But upon closer inspection on the porch, Spock can hear the television on inside and lights were on, so someone had to be home. Raising his hand to the door, he knocks lightly and listens, recognizing the light patter of feet across the hard wood floor even before the door is yanked open swiftly by the child. 

"Mr. Spock!" David exclaims in shocked happiness before flinging himself at the Vulcan, testing the Captain's reflexes unknowingly as he wraps his thin arms around Spock's neck. 

"Hello, David..." Spock greets warmly in return, grunting as forty-seven pounds of child hits him in the stomach. He bends down, letting David clamor up his frame to embrace him tightly with his head pressed to the Vulcan's chest. The child's enthusiasm was always breath-taking and Spock lets himself slip the duffel bag from his shoulder so he might properly hold David, the child's legs dangling down before him. 

"I missed you, Mr. Spock..." David mumbles, his breath warm against Spock's collar, drawing back to look his friend in the face and asking solemnly, "Did you miss me too?" 

"Did I miss you?" Spock repeats softly, brows lifting when he gets the desired response of an emphatic nod from the youngling, "How could I not?" 

Bursting into a sunny grin so much like his father's, David lets Spock finally put him down, grasping his sleeve and tugging excitedly towards the open doorway of the farmhouse. "C'mon, Mr. Spock! I'm watching cartoons! Daddy didn't make me go to school today!" 

At the mention of Jim, Spock straightens up from reclaiming his duffel bag and looks up to find the man himself, standing back in the foyer with his arms crossed and his back up against the banister behind him. When Spock sees him however, he stills immediately, and David is left to struggle against his immovable weight, tugging uselessly on his arm and saying: "C'mon, Mr. Spock, c'mon!" 

"Hey..." Jim murmurs, his voice soft and quiet in the wide foyer, causing Spock to cast a closer look over his person. What he finds twists a knot of worry in his stomach. 

"What has happened to you?" It is quite obvious to them both what he speaks of, the adhesive plaster against the side of Jim's face already stained with crimson. Spock's voice is tight and Jim picks up on the change immediately, looking defensive as he shifts on his feet and looks away. 

"It's nothing Spock, I'm fine. David's fine, I'm fine, it's all fine. I was going to-" Jim is abruptly cut off by Spock's next reply, causing him to lapse into silence again. 

"And you did not think to call me?" 

"I could say the same about you...you're early." Jim responds a beat later, meeting the intense, brown-eyed gaze trained on him with the defiant tilt of his head that comes as second nature to him. Show no weakness or pain. 

There is a beat of silence, in which even David picks up on the tense atmosphere and stops pulling at Spock's arm, standing very still and glancing between both adults with a look of growing confusion and discomfort. Spock is the first to address him, lowering into a squat before the child and forcing him to meet his gaze. "David, will you go watch cartoons for a little while so I might speak with your father? Would you tell me about what I miss when I return?" 

David shifts, uncertain, and glances back at Jim, who gives him a weary nod of approval. He nods a little sullenly, but turns and scampers back into the living room, crawling onto the sofa alongside a much healthier looking Snowy, curled up on the couch cushions. But he has no time for kittens or cartoons at the moment and it isn't simply Spock; friend of James Kirk who rises from his crouch on the floor. Rather, it is Captain Spock who meets James with a hard stare and a sharp motion towards the stairs behind him. "Bathroom. Now." 

Jim looks, for a moment, as if he might refuse and Spock's stare dares him to do it when Jim must suddenly realize that a Vulcan could simply pick him up and move him physically; so he turns with a heaving sigh and takes to the stairs begrudgingly. Spock glances back into the living room to assure himself that David is thoroughly engrossed in his television program before following; catching his hand against the flat of the bathroom door when Jim tries to close it part way on him. Slipping into the small space, Spock almost seems to tower over Jim now, who is hunching his shoulders and looking like a cornered animal. Spock keeps his back to the door, giving Jim some space for a moment as he watches the former ship captain pace in the tight enclosure. 

"Jim..." Before he can get another word out however, Jim snaps at him: 

"I know what you're going to say, okay!?" Abruptly, he lowers his voice, as if suddenly remembering the child downstairs. "I crashed the truck, it's in a ditch somewhere down the road and you were right, it was a dangerous vehicle but you know what?" Jim is shaking as he steps within reach, remaining just at arm's length from Spock but leaning so his face tips up. This maneuver used to be threatening to Spock, but he now recognizes it is a display of Jim's raw vulnerability. "I can't take any judgement from you right now over what I've done; I know it was reckless, but I had no other choice. I don't have the money for a fancy nice car that can drive itself safely through snow. I don't have the money for it or the time for it. I work, and when I'm not working, I'm taking care of David. It's a full time job and if I hadn't been so fucking spacey last night maybe I would have seen that damn deer before it had been too --" 

Before Jim can work himself into a further emotional torrent, Spock risks a fist in his face by wrapping his hands around Jim's shoulders, effectively ending the deluge of heated words falling out of Jim's mouth. Jim is pale by this point, having exhausted himself in his outburst and Spock can feel him sag in his grip. "Jim...be silent." He murmurs, brown eyes softening from their steel of earlier, "I have no idea what has occurred, all I see is a bleeding wound that obviously needs stitches and no explanation in it's proper order. Will you explain from the beginning for me again while I tend to your wound?" 

Reluctance on Jim's part makes Spock feel a momentary fission of impatience, but Jim finally agrees wordlessly, turning to sit wearily on the edge of the bath tub. A fine tremor still rattles through his fingertips but Spock doesn't believe the reaction is one of shock; rather the result of unrestrained emotion in the man. "I was driving home from work last night and it had been snowing, so there was fresh fall on the roads I take to get home. I was," Jim's lips twist into a regretful and self-deprecating half smile, "thinking about what you had said to me, you know...before." 

Moving his hand in a dismissive motion, Jim continues, "So I didn't see the deer that had stepped out in front of the truck until it was nearly upon me, I reacted. I jerked the wheel a little too hard and it sent the truck into a tail spin. I went over the embankment and luckily the line of trees there caught me or I would have rolled and ended up in the ravine below. Spock," Looking up, Spock can see a reflection of old fear in those eyes, "if those trees hadn't been there, I would have ended up unconscious or dead down there. It made me realize I have no back-up plans when it comes to what happens to David. I never made a will up when I left for Starfleet, I was young and stupid. I thought, 'what could possibly happen to me, I'm young and got my whole life ahead of me'. You don't think about all the stupid and preventable accidents that happen every day."

Retrieving the med- kit from under the sink, Spock slides one foot into the bath tub and straddles the side of it, scooting in until he's close to Jim's side so he might inspect the wound on his face more closely. He peels the plaster off with a wince from Jim as the adhesive pulls at dried blood and skin around the irritated flesh. "You were very lucky." Spock murmurs, feeling a tight knot in his stomach loosen a little, creating an acrid taste in the back of his throat. He reminds himself that there was nothing he could have done to prevent this event from transpiring, though perhaps he feels a little guilt for being such a distraction to Jim as of late. 

"Yeah, maybe not so lucky next time," Jim mumbles, tilting his head with the press of Spock's fingers along his chin, angling his face so Spock can get a better look at the gash down his temple and over his cheek. "The accident smashed my communicator though, so I had to walk back to the house. Luckily Mrs. Harper was here, she stayed over until early this morning. I don't have a concussion...so there's that," He grumbles, "but I banged up my left shoulder and arm pretty bad. The bruises are already purple." Sighing, Jim rubs a hand over his eyes, rubbing his fingers in circles over his closed lids. "God, what am I going to do..." 

Not positive that the question was directed at him, Spock remains silent as he considers the depth of Jim's wound; "Well, to start," Spock says, pulling his hands away from Jim's face and reaching into the med- kit to find a pair of disposable gloves, tugging them on as he continues, "you need stitches in a few places, mostly over your temple and cheekbone." 

Jim groans, "I figured as much." 

Withdrawing a small packet with surgical string and a curved medical needle inside, Spock realizes the limits of his supplies and murmurs softly, "We will have to proceed without any kind of anesthetic." 

"It's fine Spock, I've dealt with worse. It's the least of what I deserve..." Jim mutters, staring despondently at the wood floor beneath his feet and leaning over his bent knees. 

"You are not at fault for the accident, Jim. It was simply that...an accident." Spock says in an effort to dispel the darkness in those blue eyes. Pouring a small amount of antiseptic over a cotton pad, he begins to apply it to Jim's face, dabbing lightly at the abraded skin and regretting the pain it causes as he sees Jim wince. "To blame yourself would be pointless. Rather, I should be the one to express my regret. I should not have asked you to focus on such a request while I was away. Perhaps I should not have said anything at all, if it has caused you this level of distress." 

"What?" Jim jerks so suddenly that Spock is grateful he has not yet begun stitching his wound, for he surely would have torn the needle right through his flesh with that movement. Facing him more fully, Jim grips one of Spock's forearms in all earnestness, eyes round in what Spock can only sense is disbelief. "No, no don't be stupid." Shaking his head, Jim frowns deeply and lifts his hand from Spock, "I'm glad you were the one to broach the topic, it's not like I was in any position to do so. I mean, I've got a kid and to top it off, I'm a grounded civilian now. It had to be on your terms...if anything. I had no clue, you know?" Looking away, Jim allows Spock the space to return to disinfecting his wound. "I didn't know you had any ulterior...thoughts about our current relationship. I had always assumed that I would only ever get the chance at friendship with you. At the time, I had been okay with that." Letting out a long breath, Jim looks down at his open hands, fingers loosely knitted between his parted knees. "But now that I know I could have more than that...I don't know what to do with it. Two days wasn't long enough to come up with an answer." 

Spock's throat feels suddenly dry as Jim speaks, finding it strangely akin to a denial. "If you wish for more time to consider the matter, I will not rush you for an answer." Disinfecting the needle for good measure, Spock begins to thread it, lifting it up towards the light in order to see the thin material and the tiny hole at the back of the needle. 

"Let me just ask you one thing..." Jim murmurs, tilting his head so the light falls across the wounded side of his face better, allowing Spock ease of access. 

"Anything,." Spock replies, stony determination in his tone as he assesses where best to begin his work over Jim's cut. 

"If I know you even half as well as I think I do...you asked me to enter into a more intimate relationship with you even knowing that the chances of my rejecting the possibility simply out of the difficulty of my situation were rather high?" Jim's question gives Spock pause and before he can slide the needle into Jim's skin, he pulls away, casting a long look over Jim's face as it turns to meet his gaze. 

After a long, drawn moment, Spock nods, "I did." 

"Why?" Jim blinks, confusion puckering his brow. 

"Because I believe that, even given your current situation, you deserved to know that you could have more than my friendship and support if you needed it. Perhaps a small and entirely selfish part of my asking had been out of a self-serving need to make you consider me as a possible partner. Turn your head please." Spock slides his fingers across Jim's jaw, forcing the man to look away from him and keep his face in profile to Spock and the approaching needle. He hooks it into one side of the wound and slides it out the other, dragging the thread through the skin and knowing what it must feel like as Jim's expression falters towards one of pain and discomfort, his hands clenching in his lap. Knotting the thread at the end, Spock drags the wound closed for a single, neat stitch. Blood stains his gloves in lines as it clings to the thread he manipulates.

"So, you wanted me to know how you felt, even though you were more than half certain that I would turn you down. Jim says; his teeth grit against the discomfort Spock is regretfully causing. 

"Yes," Spock murmurs, his voice hushed as he concentrates on sewing Jim's wound shut. "Shall I take the course of this conversation to mean you are turning down my offer?" He has to steady Jim's face in a firm grip to keep him from turning to look sharply at him, seeing the movement before it happens and locking Jim's head in place with a hand under his chin. "Stay still." He reminds Jim, face set in hard lines as he works the needle through for another stitch, effectively silencing Jim for another moment. 

"No, that's not what I'm saying at all, don't make assumptions, Spock." Jim finally says, an impatient edge to his voice, "I just wanted to know what your motivations were, knowing full well that you can't possibly miss the illogic of it. You don't often ask questions you feel you know the answer to." 

"Perhaps it was out of a misplaced feeling of hope..." Spock murmurs, catching Jim's head again when he tries to turn and look at him. "If you will not sit still and refrain from turning your head Jim, I will have to render you unconscious to finish this task." 

At the threat, Jim's eyes narrow and slide to their corners to see Spock, even if just a little, "You wouldn't dare..." 

"Do you wish to test your theory?" Spock asks, all the inflection draining from his voice in order to give the desired effect, brows raised in challenge. Jim effectively backs down after studying Spock's face a moment longer, presumably seeing no route with which to prove himself right. He falls still, obeying Spock's request. 

"I guess there was one thing I always kept coming back to over the past two days." Jim continues, his breath hitching painfully every time Spock must run the needle through anew. "Or two things, actually; one being that David has already formed an attachment to you that I couldn't think of depriving either of you of, unless I wanted to become someone like Carol Marcus." He swallows and Spock listens, tying off another neat stitch. "The second being that I don't think I could ever live with myself if I didn't at least try." 

This time, Spock is the one who pauses, his hand freezing over Jim's tilted face, Jim's left eye tightly shut against the ooze of blood seeping from the wound at his temple. "Spock?" Jim's voice, laced with confusion, abruptly ends the ear-ringing silence both in Spock's head and in the small bathroom. 

"Go on..." Spock prompts him softly, not allowing himself to grow hopeful in the words his companion has already spoken. 

"Well, I was leaving it up to the last moment actually. I couldn't be certain of how I felt until I saw you again and I guess these past few days, aside from being torturous, thank you; I was forced to reconsider exactly what it was that I wanted." Sighing, he pushes onward, "When you become a parent in such a short a time as I did, you're sort of forced to give everything up. I did give everything up, Spock. My career, my dreams, my plans for the future, even my credit score..." He snorts as he mutters the last remark, "but I don't hesitate to do it either, it's just something I do. It's expected and I do it. It's a part of what being a parent is, I suppose. But you forced me to take a step back and realize that it's not ever going to be about a separate life of my own again. There won't ever be a 'Jim's life' and a 'Jim's life with David'. It will always be about David and I and I'm okay with that. It's just that I also realized how hard it is to find someone who might fit into that tiny equation. Who else is going to fit into the 'David and I' lifestyle?" Jim hisses in pain when Spock's fingers slip against the needle, slick with his blood. 

"I apologize..." Spock murmurs, hating to interrupt Jim's deliberation. 

"It's okay. Anyway," Jim licks his lips before continuing, "I guess it took me seeing David leap into your arms today to really bring the matter home to me. I've had these feelings on the back burner for," he gives a minute shake of his head, spreading a helpless hand in the air as he struggles to come up with a tangible amount of time, "God, a long time I think. But I never had any intentions of acting on them, not when I was pretty certain that it would ruin whatever friendship we had left." 

Pausing and taking a moment to wipe some of the blood from Jim's face, Spock dabs at his skin with a disinfectant wipe, watching as Jim's left eye opens again and takes a glance at him. "I guess what I'm saying is..." Jim murmurs, wincing when Spock ties off the last stitch above his brow that allows him the freedom to drop his head and meet Spock's eyes again, "You've always fit, Spock. But seeing you with David and getting to talk to you these past few weeks, you've become a part of this awkward family tree whether you meant to or not and I can't see myself being any happier in it without you." He winces, but this time out of embarrassment rather than pain, the sickly paleness chased away by a flush of emotional discomfort, "as cheesy as that sounds, I can't think of any better way of putting it." 

Spock calmly and slowly sets the soiled needle and thread down on the pile of used wipes and cotton pads, folding his hands together loosely in his lap so as not to get blood on anything as he steadily regards the man before him. Jim sits, slumped on the edge of a tiny bath tub looking for all the world like a man who has been beaten down by outside forces, only to rise anew every time like a bright and luminous precious stone. Swallowing past an odd obstruction in his throat, Spock drags the gloves off his hands and tosses them towards the waste bin by the toilet. When he looks back at Jim again, he knows he is expected to say something, but whatever comes to mind Jim has already voiced. Instead, he asks softly, "So you wish to forge a deeper relationship?" 

Jim's expression lifts with relief and levity as he smiles crookedly, "Yeah, I think so." 

Sliding a hand around Jim's right arm, Spock lets his head tip down until their foreheads rest together, their gazes dropping towards the open met- kit positioned between them. Letting out a long breath, Spock lets himself momentarily feel the thrum of Jim's mind through the touch of their skin. A voice breaks through his spinning thoughts however, "I wouldn't stop you now...you know?" Spock blinks, confused for a moment until he pulls away and notes the expression on his companion's face. Jim's expression is open, serene almost and also still a little uncertain. His lips are parted, his eyes half open and wandering over Spock's face, as if he might memorize the Vulcan's features. His pupils are deep and wide, almost completely drowning out the blue color of his irises and Spock recognizes this combination of expressions just as Jim decides to take the lead.

Jim's lips are...unexplored and undefinable when they touch Spock's. They are almost like silk, yet rough edged as if he has been biting them. They taste faintly metallic, and Spock places the taste immediately as that of iron; of blood. The kiss is warm and yet sharp at the same time, as though Spock has stepped into an icy lake. It awakens senses less often used, sending a jolt of tingling sensation throughout his nerve-endings and spurring his heart into faster motion in his side. He feels terror mixed with relief and acceptance, desire laced with hunger in its purest form, which Spock has never experienced, course through his blood, sending a flash of heat through his body. 

Jim is in a similar state when they part, both gazing upon the other in varying levels of shock and arousal. Spock's hands have found their way into Jim's hair somehow and he withdraws them only when Jim's loosen from around his wrists. The sudden surge of emotions had not been predicted on Spock's part, he had had no reference of how he might react to such a human and simple act as a kiss with Jim. Now that he knows, he is speechless, as is Jim. The pair stare at one another, as if seeing past each others skin for the first time. Spock's voice is rough when he speaks, "I am...gratified." 

Jim snorts; the sound startling in the quiet of their intimate moment, "That's an understatement, I think." He dissolves into soft laughter, "I don't think I've ever seen you so green." He chuckles, reaching up with tentative fingers to touch the emerald coloring Spock's cheek. 

Straightening from his hunched posture, Spock captures Jim's hand in his own, a thrill rippling through his system at that single touch, holding Jim's palm to his cheek to feel it's warmth there a little while longer. Jim's face softens at the action and Spock is sure he is about to be kissed a second time when there comes a rapid knock at the bathroom door made by tiny knuckles. Both of them startle, shifting apart so suddenly Jim almost knocks the med- kit off the lip of the tub. Clapping a hand over his mouth, Jim looks both startled and amused when Spock catches the kit before it can hit the floor. 

Standing, Spock sets the kit on the bathroom counter just as David's voice comes hesitantly through the bathroom door to them, asking, "Daddy? Cartoons are over and it's some show Mrs. Harper likes now...can I watch a movie instead?" 

Jim takes a moment to gather himself before answering, hanging his head and counting under his breath, an action Spock finds amusing, "Yeah, go ahead kiddo. Just pick from your shelf though, not mine, alright?" 

"Okay!" The reply is immediate and Spock can hear David's steps now in rapid descent down the stairs. It is strange that he hadn't heard the child's approach...then again, he had been rather distracted. 

"Jesus Christ..." Jim mumbles, bracing his forearms along his knees and hanging his head, sucking in one lungful of air after another. "I thought he was just going to come barging in for a second." He chuckles. 

"Do you wish our relationship to be kept from him?" Spock asks, finding a fresh adhesive bandage in the med- kit and peeling the back off of it. He perches next to Jim just long enough to place the bandage on his face before standing again, forestalled by Jim's hand catching his own and sending another shivering thrill through the Vulcan. 

"Hey, sit down for a second..." Jim prompts him and Spock concedes, sitting down on the edge of the bath again, this time with his hand still resting in Jim's grip. Light fingers explore the creases of his palm before Jim speaks again and Spock sits in silent pleasure as he waits. Finally, Jim says, "I don't know how David might react if he were to figure out you and I were...more than friends. I don't think he would be opposed, I just think it would maybe cement in his mind the thought that you're going to stay. I don't want him thinking that you and I being together now means that you will always be here, you know? Do you understand where my problem was when considering this?" 

Spock nods once, "I do. However, perhaps if explained properly to David, we would not have to hide any...affection from him." 

"Affection?" Jim's slow grin is enough to make Spock's ears heat and he looks away from Jim's probing gaze. "You want to show me affection, huh?" Jim's grin only widens when Spock won't meet his gaze, the Vulcan slips through his fingers and gets up to throw away the rest of the used medical supplies. "Oh, don't be like this now, you're admitted it after all. You like me." Jim needles, trapping Spock at the sink where he is washing his hands, sidling up behind the Vulcan and settling his hands upon the Vulcan's waist. 

Spock tenses a little at the unexpected position, feeling its intimacy and the odd newness of it. However, Jim's smug expression is far from endearing and Spock flicks a bit of water over his shoulder at Jim's face before drying his hands on the towel hanging off the wall. 

Jim squawks, wiping his face on his sleeve and smirking at his Vulcan companion making his escape out the bathroom door. "Hey," leaning over the railing around the stairwell, Jim calls down to Spock, half- way down the stairs, "do you take it back then?" He asks, crossing his arms along the rail and smiling at Spock, who stops and shakes his head. 

"I would not, even if you asked me to." Leaving Jim to his smug satisfaction upstairs, Spock checks on David on his way through the living room to the kitchen, noticing the movie the child has selected to watch. 

"Mr. Spock!" David whips around on the sofa, clamoring onto his knees and bracing his arms on the back of the sofa. "Watch with me?" 

"In a minute David, let me get your father some aspirin," Spock promises, slipping into the kitchen and finding the bottle of aspirin in a high cabinet. He fills a glass with water from the tap and pulling off his hat and scarf as he goes back upstairs. He finds Jim in the bedroom, changing out of his shirt that now has a few blood stains on the collar. When Jim turns to accept the glass of water and pills, Spock reaches back to shut the door part way and motions Jim towards the rumpled bed. 

"You need to rest," Spock says, shrugging his heavy jacket off and hanging it over the back of Jim's desk chair. "Would you allow me to aide you towards sleep as I have done before?" 

Jim finishes the glass of water before meeting Spock's words with a reply, "You'll be okay entertaining David for the rest of the afternoon?" 

"Have I not looked after him well enough before today?" Spock asks, removing his boots with unhurried motions. 

"Of course you have, but sometimes he can be a bit of a handful, that's all." 

"I can handle him," Spock assures his companion, taking the empty glass from Jim's hand and urging him towards the sheets. "I will also place a call to your local tow company if you can give me a description of where the truck is located?" 

Sighing, Jim sinks onto the edge of the bed, groaning when he flops onto his back and aggravates his sore shoulder. "It's just after the turn off the main road, so about a mile and a half off of Pinewood Avenue. But you don't have to do that Spock; it's my problem to deal with. I'll call them later." 

"We shall see..." Spock murmurs, pretending to miss the weak glare from Jim at his obvious dismissal of the man's claim of responsibility. Reaching down, Spock slides his fingers back through Jim's hair, resting his left hand over his companion's head. The connection he feels is almost there, an open circuit or conduit already waiting for him, but Spock doesn't pluck at those strings, not now. 

Instead, Spock searches out the bundle of tense nerves at the back of Jim's neck, stimulating the base of his cranium and soothing the upper ridges of his spine. Steady, gentle pressure is enough to make Jim melt against his mattress and Spock watches with some satisfaction as blue eyes turn heavy and drowsy. Jim succumbs easily enough, remembering the now familiar quiet he can now almost achieve on his own. A memory of quiet and lethargy is almost enough to lull a person rather than the act of suppressing thought alone, so Spock simply waits and soothes until Jim passes into sleep. When he rises to go, he pauses long enough to drag Jim's sheets up over his shoulder, leaving the door ajar so he might still hear it's occupant from downstairs. 

"Mr. Spock?" David's excited voice drifts up to him from downstairs and Spock abandons his desire to remain next to Jim while he rests, choosing instead to join David before the television set and letting the child explain the premise of the young adult film with great enthusiasm. 

It is only later, when David is eating a snack at the coffee table and completing a few pages of homework Mrs. Harper had missed from his school bag the day before that Spock finds a moment to return upstairs. When he peers into Jim's room he finds him still asleep, curled on his good side with his arms half wrapped around his pillow, seemingly calm and at peace. The image is enough to assuage Spock's unease, backing him down from his earlier level of high alert which he was used to falling into while aboard the Enterprise during a critical situation. 

Seeing Jim in such an exhausted and injured state had caused him to leap to all sorts of illogical conclusions, and now that the danger had passed and his uncertainties about where he stood with Jim have now been mostly resolved--Spock feels a measure of weariness come over him as well. If he didn't have David to look after, perhaps he would have crawled onto Jim's bed alongside him, taken refuge and solace in his presence. But those moments would have to wait, because downstairs, David is already calling for him, clinging to his company as a deprived individual may crave water or shelter. Rather than being an annoyance however, David's voice brings a small smile to Spock's lips and he turns, closing Jim's door softly and answering David from the stairs, "I'm coming, David. Count on your fingers like your father has taught you, what comes after seven?"


	12. New Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and David say goodbye to an old friend; the truck. We get to follow our boys through a day of errands with Spock minding the child and Jim freaking out over price tags. But it can't be too bad...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, welcome back for another Christmas Vacation update! I had a lot of fun writing this one, I hope you guys enjoy it.  
> Also, if there could be one song to sum up Jim and Spock's relationship at the moment, look up 'Writing's On The Wall' by Sam Smith (from the movie 'The Spectre'). It is currently my favorite song. =]

The following morning brings Spock to consciousness in the guest bedroom, his limbs stiff from the cold pervading his room. He had gone to bed with two layers on, and yet the cold somehow still penetrated through the heavy quilts piled on his bed. Sitting up, he braves the frigid chill and moves to the window, brushing the curtain back to get his first look outside since the snow storm had blown in the previous night. Snow is still falling, layering the tops of trees and the barn across the yard. He can also see drifts forming against his car and sighs inwardly to himself. He will have to leave the farmhouse eventually, which means going outside, which also means he will have to defrost his rented car. Cupping his palms over his ears to warm them, Spock recalls the evening before.

David had been excited about the snow storm, not only because it meant he would be staying home from school the following day, but because it had meant better sledding conditions. He and Spock had stepped outside onto the back porch when the snow had begun to fall, a blanket from the couch wrapped tightly around David and Spock wrapped in his winter coat. They had watched the snow for a while, their breath fogging the air in front of them. David had held his hands out to catch snowflakes, licking them off his hands in a manner Spock had found curious. 

"My teacher says we're all like snowflakes..." David had said; eyes bright as he held out the melting flakes in his hands toward Spock. "Because we're all...um, different." 

"Indeed, no two snowflakes are alike." Spock had agreed, "If you were to look at one beneath a microscope, you would see how none are identical." 

"I wanna see snowflakes under a micobscope!" 

"Microscope." Spock had corrected him, "Come inside then, David." 

The two of them had settled on the sofa before the fireplace, Spock thankful for the chance to get warm again with the child safely indoors. He had placed his data PADD on David's lap, looking up images of microscopically enhanced snowflakes. David had pored over the images for quite some time before handing the slate back to Spock and excitedly exclaiming, "I'm gonna draw a snowflake!" 

He had charged upstairs and into his room, returning later with a box of wax art pencils and paper, sitting at the coffee table on his knees with his creative tools. Spock had watched him; David choosing pencils in shades of blue and drawing strange lines across the page. What he was left with was a lopsided circle with a whole lot of lines through it, some poking free of the circle's boundary. It was good, for David's age, and Spock took the page when David proudly handed it over. With his hands on Spock's knee, he had explained, "Look, it's me! I'm a snowflake!" 

"This is how you would look as a snowflake?" Spock had asked, finding the concept interesting. 

"Yeah, do you want me to draw you too, Mr. Spock?" David had offered, and before Spock could reply, he had sunk back down at his work space and began another scribble. Snowy found the scraps of paper on the floor to be of more interest, and so the kitten played and romped with a wadded up ball of paper Spock had crushed together for her. Later, Jim had emerged from his rest upstairs and leaned against the back of the sofa, by that time littered with David's snowflake drawings.

"What are you guys up to?" He had asked, Spock turning his head to look back and up at his companion.

"David is transforming every person he knows into an artist's interpretation of a snowflake." At Jim's confused glance, Spock had lifted a page from his knee and turned it for Jim to see, "This is David's rendering of myself...as a snowflake." Jim had taken the page and Spock could tell he was biting his lips to keep from laughing. 

"Is that-...are those-?" Jim had broken into a huge grin, turning the page towards Spock and pointing at the two triangles drawn outside the misshapen circle of Spock's snowflake self, "your ears?" 

"I believe so..." Spock had smirked, "they are green." 

Jim had laughed, and later Spock noticed he had tacked the drawing to the fridge with a magnetic strip, joined by a snowflake-Jim and a snowflake-David. 

 

Sliding out of the memory, Spock finds himself in the bathroom, the water running in the sink and his hands braced along the porcelain. The rest of the house is silent, still sleeping peacefully. David had passed out shortly after they had eaten the frozen pizza they had heated for dinner, and Jim hadn't been far behind, curled into the corner of the sofa with a blanket over his lap and the flickering glow of the television set reflecting on his features. Spock had been the last to go to bed, which didn't explain why he was the first to rise. 

The cold had woken him and before anyone else is awake in the house, Spock dons his jacket and boots, and tugs the hood up on his coat before stepping out the backdoor by the kitchen. He fishes some dry pieces of wood out from under the tarp against the house, trudging back up the snow-covered steps and into the house. Leaving his snow-caked boots and damp jacket in the kitchen to dry over the heating grate, Spock takes the wood into the living room and stacks it by the hearth. The coals are still warm in the trap and Spock scoops some of the ash out into a pail before building a stack of wood up on the grate. Using yesterday's paper as kindling, he strikes a match and lays it across the logs, spending a few minutes with his hands outstretched towards the heat until he can move each digit without stiffness. 

His next task is preformed in the kitchen, consisting of pouring water into the hatch at the back of the espresso machine and sifting grounds into the trap. He has just poured out a mug and placed a teabag of earl grey into a second mug when he hears movement upstairs and the bathroom door shutting softly. Taking the mug of black coffee and his steeping mug of tea with him, Spock walks upstairs to the landing just as Jim is ducking out of the bathroom. "Good morning," He greets, wincing inwardly when Jim lifts his face in surprise. Jim's cheek is a little swollen and his entire left eye is now mottled shades of purple and black. He looks terrible and Spock holds out the mug of steaming hot coffee to him, which Jim accepts with a grateful smile from his partner. 

"Hey...that bad, huh? Yeah, I thought so too. I look like I got into a fight with a Gorn." He sips from his mug, wincing and hissing in pain when his cracked lips protest the heat. 

"You would look far worse if it were a fight with a Gorn..." Spock comments, reaching up to gently turn Jim aside, noticing the bruises under the skin of his left shoulder and arm, exposed for his view since Jim is only wearing a tank top with his sweatpants. 

"Let's go downstairs, let David sleep a while longer..." Jim whispers, taking the lead back down the stairs and making a pleased sound in his throat when he sees the fire already lit. "How long have you been up?" He asks, sliding into his spot on the sofa and wrapping both his hands around the mug of coffee. 

"Twenty-seven minutes," Spock replies, dragging the blanket off the back of the sofa and opening it, then drawing it over Jim's legs. 

"Thanks..." He murmurs softly, looking up at Spock and blinking. "For a minute there, I had thought I dreamed up all that stuff from last night." Sighing, he rests his mug against his leg and motions Spock to sit next to him, waiting for the Vulcan to comply. "I'm glad it wasn't though." He says in a softer tone. 

"As am I," Spock agrees; an easy admission this time. He wishes for Jim to know he is pleased with his answer, pleased that even with some hardships likely ahead of them, he is now allowed certain...actions. With David still asleep upstairs, Spock reaches out towards Jim with little hesitation, brushing some of his grown-out hair back from the bandage on the side of his face. To his surprise, Jim tips towards his gesture, leaning his face into the curve of Spock's palm and stealing it's warmth. Sliding across the sofa cushions, Spock drops his arm around Jim's shoulders, stealing a corner of the blanket for his own lap as Jim grins at him. 

"Well, look at you, Mr. Suave..." Jim chuckles, "Guess we'll have to soak up every moment we have, won't we?" 

"Indeed." Spock murmurs, brown eyes studying Jim's pale features. This time, Spock takes satisfaction in making the first move, tilting his head down and grazing his nose through the hair at Jim's temple, causing his partner to turn his face towards him. They study one another, Jim's blue eyes finally flicking down to regard the bow-shaped curve of Spock's lips. When they meet Spock's gaze once more, Jim's own lips have parted in invitation and Spock draws out this feeling of desire a little longer, watching the tip of a pink tongue dart out to wet Jim's bottom lip in an almost a nervous fashion. 

When their lips meet this time, Spock is ready for it, braced for the sensation of it. Jim's lips are warm, a little rougher this time, most-likely from dehydration. Spock makes a mental note to increase Jim's fluid intake for the day, but lets it remain a fleeting thought as he feels Jim's hand slide along his jaw, warmed by his cup of coffee. Jim's lips part under the pressure of Spock's own and before Spock can deepen the kiss, Jim beats him to it. 

Distantly, Spock is aware of Jim setting his mug out of reach behind him on the end table, but he doesn't have time to check, because hands are molding to the shape of his face and causing Spock's nerve-endings to sing under the touch. Jim's tongue, hot and tasting slightly bitter from the coffee, hesitantly tastes Spock's lips until they yield. Their bodies twist on the sofa, Spock's arm sliding behind Jim and pulling him closer, drawn to his heat and the call of his flesh, fitting his hand to the back of Jim's neck and feeling his pulse beat rapidly in the curve of his throat where his fingers rest. Jim's fingers find purchase in Spock's hair, twining the black strands around his digits until his nails scrape against the Vulcan's scalp and cause a shiver to course through his body. 

The demand for a proper intake of oxygen becomes a necessity for Jim and Spock reluctantly allows him to draw away, both of them breathing a little harder and faster than they had been a moment ago. Jim's eyes say it all to Spock, their rapid study of Spock's face and their wide wonderment is enough to make Spock slot their mouths together again, even before Jim can catch a full breath. Fingers spider across his chest but do not push him away or brace against him, simply exploring the width of his frame and twisting in the material of his sweater, Jim tugging him forward until he can lock an arm behind Spock's shoulders. 

Spock barely notices the angle of the kiss changing, that is, until Jim is leaning down above him, forcing Spock's head back as Jim takes to his knees. With the upper hand, Jim controls the kiss with his hands cradling Spock's head, thumbs sweeping over the curves of Spock's ears and eliciting a pleased sound out of him. Spock's own hands find Jim's hips, skimming up the sturdy yet lean torso. Jim's muscles are tense and tremble beneath Spock's exploring fingers, a gasp is torn from Jim's open mouth, pressed against his own, when he thinks to delve beneath the hemline of Jim's tank top to feel his warm skin. 

It is Spock who reacts first to the soft sound upstairs, his more sensitive hearing picking up the shuffling of bed sheets and the creak of mattress springs above them. He freezes, listening harder to surmise if David is simply moving in bed and is still, in fact, asleep. Jim seems to catch on a moment later, drawing back and falling into a crouch with his weight braced on his heels and his hands sliding from Spock's hair. "What is it?" He asks, confused, "did I go too far?" Jim blinks, of course believing that he has done something wrong. 

Spock shakes his head with a small frown, "No, but David is awake." To prove his point, the bathroom door upstairs closes and Jim sags back against the sofa, seeming to melt into the cushions with his head hanging off the back.

"Shit...," he breaths, the both of them steadily catching their breath again, Spock still partially poised on the sofa with his hand braced along the back edge and his other against his knee. It takes until the flush of the toilet for them both to relax, Jim grinning at him and breathing into silent chuckles. "You're so green; you could pass as a cucumber on Broadway. You had better go hide out in the kitchen...I'll distract him a while." He very pointedly drags the blanket back from where it had fallen between them, covering his lap with a rueful half smile and making a tentative 'shooing' motion to Spock. "Get out of here, will ya? I can't look at you right now, it's not helping." He adds with a flush of his own that changes the color of his cheeks to a pleasing pink hue. 

With his blood still singing in his ears, Spock retreats to the kitchen as suggested, bracing his hands along the sink and staring out the window. He can see by his reflection that he is, indeed, flushed a soft jade and he cups his hand under the faucet, wiping cold water down over his face with a shudder. He hears David talking to Jim in the living room, but their conversation is beyond him as he remembers the feeling of Jim's body under his hands. There is something strong that pulls them together and with some embarrassment, he realizes how little control he had had over his desires of a moment ago. He had wanted to lay Jim out across that sofa that very minute, had longed for it like he had never longed for anything in his life. 

A worried part of him considers his age, wonders if this is what his father had referred to as their 'time'. But no, there had been no pain or age- old desperation in his yearning. It had been pure sexual attraction, the likes of which Spock had never experienced before, not even with Uhura. There was no denying that Jim was considered the exception in Spock's mind, he had always been so, even during their time on the Enterprise. Jim could drag responses out of Spock he had never known were there, and a memory of the bridge comes unbidden to his mind, as he stands there in the kitchen thinking about the seething anger Jim had engendered in him during the Nerada incident. He can remember that anger, what it had felt like, but it doesn't boil to the surface as easily as it would have over a year ago. When he thinks about it now, the emotions are tempered with understanding, having realized that Jim's motives had been sound. 

A step in the dining room causes Spock to turn from his bent posture over the sink, catching a smug look from Jim and realizing that he had chilled water still dripping down his face. Grabbing a dish towel, he blots himself dry and wipes the back of his neck, tossing the towel onto the counter and folding his arms across his chest in an inherently defensive motion. Jim keeps his distance too, only coming as close as the refrigerator as he opens it to scan the shelves for breakfast options. "I need to call that tow company today, see if my poor truck can be salvaged." 

"I already called them last night," Spock says, satisfied when his voice emerges as steady as ever, earning a second glance from Jim. 

"Where did they take it to?" 

"A mechanics shop in town, I have the address." Looking away, Spock greets David softly as the child comes trudging into the kitchen, no doubt for food. Jim pops two slices of bread into the toaster and turns away, rifling through the kitchen cabinets for common toast condiments. 

"Would you mind giving me a ride there later? I need to get David's booster seat and see about a rental maybe...if she can be fixed, that is." Grimacing, Jim spreads butter over the slices of toast. "I can't afford a new car right now." Spock is fairly certain those words hadn't been meant for him, but it causes him to glance at his winter jacket hanging over the heat register all the same. Perhaps it would be best to present Jim with the envelope sooner rather than later. 

"Jim-" But before he can broach the topic, Jim shakes his head and passes the toast to David. 

"David doesn't have any school today either, so I'm either going to have to take him with us, or leave him with a neighbor..." Dragging fingers through his hair, Jim reaches into his pocket and drags out his compromised comm. unit, huffing when he seems to realize it's useless to him now. "Oh, right...and I need another comm." He looks like he might swear, but with David in earshot, he bites his lip hard and turns away, back to the fridge for the gallon of milk and a glass for David. 

Wordlessly, Spock steps around David at the kitchen island and reaches inside his jacket to the inner pocket, sliding out the envelope and straightening it out a little. "James, I have something that may help. Now seems like a good time to give this to you." Falling silent, Spock waits for the refrigerator door to close and Jim's confused expression to emerge from behind it. 

"What's that?" 

"It is for you," Spock murmurs, holding out the envelope until Jim takes it from his fingers, "It is a missive from Starfleet's financial division." That seems to get Jim's attention, because he is dragging the letter out and looking at it with an expression of disbelief. His shock only grows as he reads and Spock slips his hands behind his back, squaring his shoulders and giving Jim this moment. 

"Oh my God..." Jim whispers, "You didn't." Wide blue eyes flick up to stare at Spock in disbelief, "How did you?" Words seem difficult and Spock watches Jim swallow, threading fingers back through his hair and bending over the letter in his hand, eyes flying over the words a second time. Then there are a pair of strong arms tangling around Spock before he can react, Jim embracing him so hard he has to take a steadying step backward to support the added weight.

"Holy shit, how?" Jim's voice rasps, muffled in the curve of Spock's neck and shoulder where he has buried his face. Spock settles his hands on Jim's shoulder blades lightly, feeling his partner shaking. "God, Spock. Thank you... Thank you." 

"What is it?" David asks from the counter, his toast half eaten and his face messy with smears of jam and peanut butter. He is looking at the envelope, almost standing on the bar-stool as he strains to see.

Pulling away abruptly, Jim sniffs and says in a commanding voice Spock finds familiar, "Sit down, David, before you tip yourself over." His eyes are red but there are no tear tracks on his cheeks and he looks at Spock, still in shock. "It's my pension..." He murmurs, looking into the envelope and drawing out a second piece of paper, this time a bank receipt with a routing code at the bottom. "They're giving me my pension?" 

"There should be some fifteen-thousand credits deposited into your account by the end of the week. It took a great deal of negotiating to get them to agree to a number commensurate with how long you have been without payment. It is 'back pay', I believe the Admiral called it." 

"Pike?" Jim questions, eyes still wide with surprise. 

Spock nods, "I went to him for assistance on the matter." 

"Does he..." Jim glances at David, "did you tell him about David?" 

"I did." Spock replies, leading with the truth. 

"What did he say?" Lowering the letter and envelope to the counter, Jim seems to pale and Spock hurries to speak. 

"He said he hoped to meet David, some day." 

"Who?" David asks, bouncing with the obvious excitement and tension in the room affecting him. 

Jim ignores his child for now, in lieu of grabbing Spock by the front of his sweater and yanking him down, their mouths colliding with a clash of lips and teeth. Spock tenses, because they are in plain view of David, but Jim doesn't seem to care as he expresses his gratitude, giving Spock only a few inches when they part and murmuring, "You're fucking amazing..." 

Spock's gaze softens in relief, pleased that Jim is relieved and also that he is not irritated with Spock's revealing of his secret.

"Whoooa..." David chimes in from behind them and when they both turn to regard the child, it seems he has finally sat still and is staring at them very intently. "Are you guys boyfriend and girlfriend now?" He asks; face set in an expression of surprise, identical to Jim's own.

Before Spock can think of what to say, Jim erupts into riotous laughter, clamping a hand over his mouth and bending over the counter. It seems he won't be any help, so Spock endeavors to explain, clearing his throat, "That would be an impossibility David, seeing as we are both male." 

"Oh God!" Jim crows from beside him, slapping the counter with his hand; most unhelpful.

"It seems keeping the nature of our relationship from the child is out of the question." Spock mutters, arching a brow at Jim, but even he can't keep the sparkle out of his eyes when Jim just shrugs his shoulders and bites back his amusement. 

"He was going to find out sooner or later, I suppose." Jim grins. 

 

Later that afternoon, Jim and David climb into Spock's car, David without his booster seat for now and sitting in the back center seat with the lap belt across him. "Oh, well that's handy..." Jim mutters as it takes only a few minutes for the car to defrost, heat distributors in the tempered glass melting the ice and snow off the windshield and back windows. "This one is different from the model you had before," Jim comments, watching Spock sweep through interior options on the front control panel. 

"I did not find the other car the agency provided for me to be sufficient to my needs, so I upgraded." Spock replies. 

"Hello, Mr. Spock. What is your destination?" A female A.I. voice interrupts their conversation, facial recognition locking onto his features and reflecting them back in the view screen before the steering wheel. 

"The corner of Southwest Elm and Freeman Avenue; Jacob's Garage and Automotive." Spock intones, to which the voice responds by repeating the address back, the viewing screen in the center console displaying an open map of Riverside, marking their destination with a little red thumb tack. 

"Estimated arrival with current conditions: Twenty eight minutes, eleven seconds." The A.I. finishes just before Spock pilots it in reverse down the driveway, turning around in front of the farm house. 

"Cool!" David says excitedly from the back seat, leaning forward to try and get a look at the screen on the front console. 

"A little fancy, don't you think?" Jim asks, arching a brow at Spock. 

Running the windshield wipers to sweep the falling snow off, Spock casts Jim a short glance, "It reaches internal and external temperatures in under twenty seconds Jim, it also auto-pilots and picks the swiftest route to our destination. It switches to external thrusters for low elevation propulsion should road conditions be impossible to pass safely over." 

Rolling his eyes, Jim shrugs, "Yeah...cool, I guess. But it doesn't have one of those nifty air-refreshers hanging from the rear-view mirror." 

Smirking a little, Spock allows Jim his sulk, "I suppose it could not have everything." 

They get to the garage right on time, and Spock powers down the vehicle, joining David and Jim on the snowy sidewalk. The main streets have been plowed, but the side streets have not and they all slog through shin-high snow, which is nearly up to David's waist. Swinging David up into his arms and out of harm's way, Spock follows Jim into the garage and up to the service counter. 

They find Jim's truck parked in the side lot half dusted with snow and Jim circles it. Spock can practically see the numbers adding up in Jim's mind, his jaw clenched tightly shut as he surveys the damage on his own. The front end is battered and smashed in, the side door bowed in against the cab with cracks along the windshield and the driver's side window smashed open. 

"The axle is bent," the mechanic who has accompanied them says, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke downwind from them, which Spock appreciates. David stares at the truck from his arms. "Your brakes are shot and your battery is dead. There is some other mechanical damage, besides the cosmetics of it. She'll need a lot of work, more than she's worth, I'd say." The man says, causing Jim to bristle from his spot by the rear panel. 

"How much?" Jim asks, no doubt comparing his estimate to the mechanic's. 

"Oh, I'd say...roughly?" He glances up over the width of the damaged hood at Jim, shrugging with the hand holding his cigarette, "About eight grand." 

Jim sags a little, looking the truck over with a puckered brow. "Shit..." He whispers under his breath, heaving a sigh and letting his hand slip off the snow-dusted hood. 

"James," Spock lowers his voice, keeping the conversation between himself and his partner. "Perhaps it would be worth more to sell the vehicle for parts?" 

"You could get about five grand out of her if you sold her as is." The mechanic says, stepping closer to their little group. Spock shifts David to his other hip, putting himself between him and the man and his disgusting habit; smoke drifting through the icy air around them. 

"Who the hell would buy her for parts though?" Jim mutters, folding his arms across his chest. 

The mechanic shrugs, making a face as he considers the damaged vehicle, "I'd take 'er off your hands. For about, say forty- five hundred?" 

"You said I could get five grand." Jim argues. 

"Yeah, but this way you won't have to move it or deal with it. I could show you the credits right here and now and you all could walk away from here and forget about it." 

Jim seems to deliberate, looking back at the damaged truck and snatching the hat off his head to graze his fingers through his hair. "Jim..." Spock gains his partner's attention, "it would be easier this way." 

Finally, Jim says to the man, "Forty-seven hundred and we've got a deal." 

Seeming to think about it, the man drops his cigarette into the snow with a sizzling sound and kicks some snow over it, holding out his gloved hand to James, "You've got yourself a deal, mister. Why don't you all come on inside and I'll give you those credits." They leave the garage some minutes later, Jim fingering the credit chips in his pocket idly as they climb back into the car, this time with David's booster seat and a few other personal items from the cab of the truck. 

Spock pauses at the wheel for a moment, observing Jim's mild agitation as he stares out the front windshield. "I could have gotten more for it, but with all this snow...it's just easier to leave it there, let him have it." He sighs, scratching the side of his face where a light dusting of hair has filled in, lending a scruffy and unkempt sort of look to him. 

"Shall we stop by your local bank and make arrangements for a loan?" Spock asks, "So you may get a new vehicle as soon as possible?" 

"Uh, yeah. Let's go." Jim mutters, glancing in the rear-view mirror to get a look at David in the backseat, who is leafing through a pamphlet he had snagged from a holder by the shop's door as Spock had carried him out. 

They get to the bank a few minutes later and all three trundle into the warm building, Spock standing back from the front counter with David at his side. David begins to flip through the magazines on the table in the waiting area, looking at the pictures of super models posed for advertisements and pictures of animals in the more educational reading material; it seemed he had no preference. 

"Spock," Jim motions his partner towards a back office where they take seats before a woman who looks up Jim's financial records and finally tells them that she cannot offer Jim a loan because he is too high a risk. When Jim presses her for a more thorough explanation, she looks at him and says: 

"Well, in plain words Mr. Kirk, you have bad credit." 

Rubbing his hands over his face, Jim leans back in his seat and stares the woman down, "Right, well how can I fix it?" 

"Pay off your debts, Mr. Kirk. Meet at least the minimum payment requirements for all your credit accounts and pay on time for a year and we'll see how your score looks then." The agent says, with what Spock can sense is mild disdain. It causes Spock to bristle, watching Jim get up from his seat. 

"Shit, hold on...I'm going to call mom." He mutters, "Can I borrow your comm, Spock?" 

With Jim out of the room and David occupied with a potted plant in the corner of the room, Spock leans forward toward the woman behind the desk and asks, "What about a loan under my name?" 

It takes her less time to bring up Spock's records, her voice brighter and her smile wider when she reports, "Your credit is fine, Mr. Spock. We could easily give you a loan should you need one. Unfortunately, I cannot let you sign as a guarantor on Mr. Kirk's loan. He does not meet the requirements, and even if he did, I am afraid the fees would be astronomical." She says with a prim little grimace. 

"I would like to take a loan out for twenty-thousand credits, then." The woman is nonplussed, but when she sees his resolute expression, rather than argue she hastily prints out pages from a template on her computer. 

"You'll need to fill out this paper work, Mr. Spock, and given your dual citizenship, we will need to check into your off-planet finances before loaning such a large sum. But it shouldn't be a problem. It usually takes up to three or more business days for a company to extract such a large amount of money out of bank accounts." She glances at David, who has taken small handfuls of the plant's potted soil out one at a time and dropped dirt clumps onto the carpeted floor of her office. "Are you two...looking to put a down payment on a house?" 

"Mr. Kirk requires a new vehicle," Spock intones, his voice icy and devoid of emotion, forestalling any more of her probing questions. 

"Dealerships don't take their payment out of accounts until the end of the week then, so you should be fine, sir." She stammers. 

Spock signs his full name at the bottom of the page, scratching the Vulcan characters into the paper with the dying pen provided before handing her back her clipboard. "Excellent, we're finished here." 

"Th-Thank you, sir." She says, standing and holding her hand out to him, freezing when he ignores the gesture and turns to pick David up from his mischievous enterprises. In the lobby of the bank, Jim turns to look at him questioningly, seemingly in the middle of a phone call which he ends when Spock says: 

"It is done, we are leaving." 

"Wh-what? What do you mean 'it's done'?" Jim asks, scanning the printed page Spock hands to him wordlessly. David waves a dirty hand at the stunned lady behind them as they duck out into the falling snow. "Shit, Spock! Twenty-thousand credits?" Jim sounds winded and Spock glances over at him to be sure he isn't about to hyperventilate. "Why so much money? Shit, Spock I'll never pay that off, that's too much!" 

"I intend for you to acquire the best vehicle possible; that means one with the highest safety ratings and fuel efficiency. One such as that happens to require a lot of credits," Spock says, straightening up from placing David in his booster seat and buckling him up. He shuts the door, effectively cutting David off from the conversation long enough for him to get his point across. His back blocks the door's window as he faces Jim, "I would feel less concern in my absence knowing your safety is assured and David's safety as well. I refuse to let you purchase another vehicle that cannot promise that kind of peace of mind." His words are clipped and Jim's arguments fade, their breaths co- mingling in the short space between them as they stare at one another, almost in a challenge until Jim relents with slumping shoulders. 

"You were freaking out then..." Jim mumbles, studying Spock's features a little too keenly. 

Shifting, suddenly uncomfortable, Spock looks away and out over the snowy parking lot. "I do not enjoy seeing you injured, James," A muscle in his jaw jumps, his jaw working, "seeing the state of your truck only made your near brush with disaster more vivid for me." 

"It did look pretty bad, didn't it..." Jim murmurs, almost sounding sheepish. When Spock glances at him, Jim is smiling softly. "But hey, I'm okay and David is okay. It's all fine, so there's really no need for you to take out so much goddamn money for a brand new car for me. I don't like hand-outs..." He scowls when he says the last part of his tirade, to which Spock can only cast him a long look. 

"I have the funds, James. Besides," he pauses, thinking better of his actions but not willing to forestall them when he and Jim stand alone in an empty parking lot, "I intend to collect." Brown eyes flash with wicked amusement, shocking Jim into letting his mouth fall open as he watches Spock round the car and get in on the other side. He recovers fast enough though and climbs into the passenger side, throwing Spock a dark look of promise that sends a shiver down the Vulcan's spine. 

"Where did you get that?" Jim asks David when he notices the child has a magazine open across his lap, looking intently at the pictures. 

Spock takes some satisfaction in knowing they left the woman's office a bit of a mess, even if it is illogical to take such satisfaction out of the ordeal just because she had been rude to Jim.

 

They drive all the way into Des Moines after lunch that afternoon, intending to reach a dealership Jim had selected off the car's map. "I've always kind of wanted a Subaru or Toyota; those brands are known for making pretty durable cars." 

"Perhaps a sedan or mid-sized sport utility vehicle would be appropriate for you,." Spock suggests, "something higher up off the road and with four wheel capabilities so that you will not get stuck in all this snow."

"I know how to drive in snow, Spock," Jim groans, "Just not when a dang deer jumps out in front of me." 

"Obviously," Spock says stiffly with a sniff. 

"Like you would have done any better..." Jim mutters. 

At the dealership Jim wanders around the showroom floor, their little group attracting the attention of a salesman who approaches them with a smile and a pointed handshake for Jim and a nod towards Spock. Already, Spock adds a point for intelligence to this man's first impressions. "Hello folks, looking to buy a new car?" 

"Uh, yeah," Jim replies with a side-long glance at Spock, "I had a truck before, so I'm kind of used to the larger sized vehicles. All you guys have in here are sedans though." 

"We have a separate show room for our larger models. Right this way, folks." The man offers a wide, white smile and leads them through a pair of glass doors into a secondary showroom. Large, all-wheel drive trucks and large scale eight-seaters spin slowly on display and Spock lets David slip down to stand on his own feet for a while as his bright, young eyes scan the glittering displays. 

"Look at that one, Mr. Spock!" He says, pointing with one mittened hand at a blue model located towards the back of the showroom. He takes off at a run across the empty floor, coat tails flapping behind him as Spock follows at a slower pace. 

"Don't let him touch anything, Spock!" Jim's voice rings out from where he is talking to the salesman and Spock nods, catching up to David just as he is about to reach for the door handle of the blue vehicle. Sweeping him up off the floor, Spock holds him an arm's length away from the car, letting him peer in through the tinted windows. He reads the informational display next to the car, his lips twitching with an idea when he reads. 

"Hello, Veronica." David jumps in his arms in surprise when the car in front of them whistles and beeps, flashing it's lights in response with a cool female voice answering 'hello'.

"It's alive, Mr. Spock! It's alive!" David crows, thrusting his arms up in the air excitedly, "Do it again!" 

Showing David the display, Spock cycles through the various commands the car can respond to while powered down, "What is the current temperature outside, Veronica?" 

The A.I. replies, "Sixty-eight degrees Fahrenheit." 

"Well, sixty-eight inside the showroom anyway..." Spock confirms, moving down the list to entertain David until a curious Jim joins them a moment later. 

"What is this thing?" Jim blinks, looking around the outside of the car. 

"That, folks," the salesman steps in seamlessly, "is our newest Honda model. The Honda Terra. A few features are still in the design stages, but it receives new systems updates frequently and is fully functional." 

"It's your car's mamma, Mr. Spock." David says with a grin. 

"It has external propulsion systems for low air travel." Spock tells Jim, "And a higher under carriage as well as the highest safety rating to date, Jim." 

He gets a long look from his partner for his efforts, but Spock already knows where Jim's eyes are going to go next; the price tag. 

"Holy shit, Spock..." Jim breathes in a low tone, talking out of the corner of his mouth to try and keep the salesman and David from hearing him, "It's nearly fifty-grand..." 

"You cannot put a price on safety, James." Spock argues. 

"Yeah, well I kind of have to, and fifty grand is too much." 

David's input comes unbidden, "I like the talking car!" 

"If you are looking for something like this model, we do have last year's selection." The salesman offers, looking hopeful between both Spock and Jim. "They were marked the highest in safety rating last year and come with a broad range of features." 

"Yeah, that, what he said. C'mon, David. Say goodbye to the talking car," Jim says with a smirk, taking David by the hand who cranes around to wave at the A.I. vehicle. 

"Bye-bye, Veronica!" 

The car chirps and flashes its lights at David, saying, "Goodbye." 

In another showroom, Spock can tell the vehicles are of an older make and model, but he scans the displays just the same as the salesman leads them to a line of three vehicles, all made by Honda. There is a sedan, a two door coupe, and a mid-sized SUV, all with their doors open for display. David immediately climbs up into the driver's seat of the coupe, fitting his hands around the wheel and making noises with his mouth in an attempt to sound like an accelerating car. 

"I like the SUV..." Jim murmurs, "It's only eighteen grand, Spock." 

"Would you folks like to test drive one?" Their sales-rep asks. 

"How soon could I drive one off this lot?" Jim asks, "I'd rather just buy it." 

Spock finds Jim's impatient reply no surprise. "It would only take about fifteen minutes to fill out some paper work." The salesman replies and ushers them to a desk near the front windows of the showroom. Spock hangs back to extricate David from the coupe, pointing out the one they are about to purchase instead. 

A half hour later, Jim is retrieving the booster seat out of Spock's rental car as their sales representative pulls around Jim's new car. The man hands over the keys, thanking them and telling Jim not to hesitate to bring the car back for inspection should anything not seem right or to his liking. Spock had sprung for the fifty-thousand mile warranty. 

"I guess I'll uh, see you at home Spock." Jim says, grinning from the driver's seat with the window rolled down and snow falling in flurries around his shiny new vehicle. Jim had picked a black one, saying it wouldn't show as much dirt as a white one would. It had flashy chrome around the weld lines of the body, outlining its sleek frame's design and had a rear lift gate that Jim had preferred, saying it would be easier to get groceries into the back that way. He had groaned at his own words, saying he sounded like a housewife, but Spock had agreed in the efficiency of the model. 

Now they would return to Riverside separately, with Spock following behind while Jim got a feel for the new car. Before leaving, however, Jim had kept him from stepping away from the side of the new car long enough to lean out and briefly brush a warm kiss against Spock's cold cheek. "Thank you Spock...even if this is too much and I feel like shit accepting this from you, I really do appreciate it," Jim had said, his voice sounding thick even to Spock's ears. 

"You are welcome Jim. Do not drive too fast out of Des Moines..." Spock had warned with a pointed brow raised, making Jim snort and shake his head while he pressed a button to roll the window up. 

 

In their new Honda XC55, Jim resets the factory controls with David looking over his shoulder in interest. The fancy thing had facial recognition and displays his face back at him, greeting him in a female voice. "Please repeat your name so I might recognize you." The A.I. prompts and Jim grins. 

"James." He says, glancing at David's wide eyes over his shoulder. 

"Please choose your preferred settings." The car says next while changing the display across the center console and Jim whips through the settings, turning on the program for driving in severe snow and changing the car's voice. It changes to male and David perks up from the back seat. 

"It's Mr. Spock!" David says gleefully, squirming around in his booster seat. 

"How shall I be addressed, James?" The car asks, throwing Jim for a mental loop when he notices how similar the A.I.'s and Spock's voices are. "Please repeat the name." 

"Mr. Spock!" David shouts from the backseat. 

"You may request my services by the name Mr. Spock." The car repeats in a cool, level voice. Jim's eyes flicker shut, his lips twisting into a reluctant smile as he casts his gaze into the back seat. 

"That was your fault kid, so if Spock gets mad, that's on you." Chuckling, Jim realizes as he drives out of the dealership parking lot that perhaps it might get confusing, especially if Spock is actually in the vehicle at some point. He tests it, "Spock?" But the A.I. doesn't respond and Jim breaths a small sigh of relief. At least he has to add the 'Mr.' part for it to recognize the order. Glancing in the rear view mirror, Jim can see Spock's sleek car following at a safe distance, his lights on and reflecting off the snow. He knows Spock probably can't see it, but he says to David, "Wave goodbye to Mr. Spock!" 

"How may I be of assistance?" The A.I. chimes in. 

"That's going to get old fast..." He mutters, changing lanes at the first intersection with David twisted in his booster seat to wave out the back window. 

"Goodbye Mr. Spock!" David says.

"Goodbye." The A.I. replies, shutting down the center console viewing screen.


	13. Date Nights and Sleepovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David spends a Saturday at his friend Matthew's house for a sleepover and Jim and Spock get some much needed alone time to talk and clear the air. What better way to do that then over dinner?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap I did it, I got them over that hump guys! It was a slow build indeed, but I hope the wait more than paid off. I hadn't exactly planned how this chapter would go in my head, I just sort of let my muse take me there. If you're curious, I wrote this whole chapter while listening to the song 'Arrival of the Birds' by The Cinematic Orchestra (from 'The Theory of Everything' movie). I suggest you give it a listen while you read, it really fits the mark and tone of this chapter. Also, the restaurant that Jim picks in Iowa City for their date night really exists, and I pulled options off their menu for their dinner. Let me know if any of you have ever been there!

The following Saturday, Jim gets an unexpected day off, receiving a call from his manager at the bar explaining that the bar would be closed for the evening for a private party. Jim had already done his rotation for large parties, so tending the bar would be up to the other three bartenders on the roster. In a way, he was relieved that he didn't have to work, but also a little disappointed he would not be receiving the tips. Large parties were usually hit or miss when it came to good tips, young groups often tipped the most once they were drunk enough, so you waited to water down the drinks until everyone had had a couple. Large groups of middle-aged to elderly folk were usually a bad night because they came early, usually only had a few drinks, tipped light, and stayed late while eating as much bar food as they could stomach. 

In a way though, Jim was excited, because David would be out of the house for the first night in a long time. Jim couldn't remember the last night he had had to himself. Later, once David had eaten lunch, Jim would drive him to his new best friend's house for a sleepover. He had been hesitant at first because he thought kids as young as David didn't exactly have sleepovers yet, and with David's issues sleeping sometimes, Jim was braced for a possible call later that night. If it came down to it and David called for him to come get him, Jim knew he would. 

"Are you all packed up for your sleepover tonight?" Jim asks later that afternoon while stirring a pot of boxed macaroni and cheese for David's lunch. 

"Yup!" David replies, sitting on his knees on a kitchen bar-stool and watching Jim stir the boiling noodles. "I've got my blankie, I've got my jim-jams, and I've got my toof-brush!" 

"Toothbrush," Spock corrects from the doorway to the kitchen, his data PADD in hand. 

"What about clean clothes for tomorrow?" Jim asks as he strains the noodles out into a colander in the sink before stirring in the butter, cheese mix, and milk from the fridge. 

"Can't I wear this?" David asks, plucking at the front of his shirt. 

"Not if we want Mrs. Fisher to think I take care of you properly." Jim mutters, "I'll find you another set of clothes in a minute. Here," placing a bowl of macaroni and cheese mixed with steamed petite peas in front of David, Jim passes Spock on his way out of the kitchen, "eat up kid. Where's your backpack?" 

"Under my bed!" David calls back in reply. 

"Why is it there...?" Jim mutters, frowning as he ducks into David's room upstairs to reorganize and double-check David's packing job. He brings the turtle shell backpack down a minute or two later, tossing it over the back of the sofa. Spock has sat down next to David at the counter, his data PADD positioned between them displaying something that has caught David's interest. Stepping closer and looking over Spock's shoulder, Jim recognizes images of the Enterprise. "Is that before or after her refit job?" 

"After; Mr. Scott sent these images from Space-dock last night," Spock says, looking up from the PADD. 

"She looks...good," Jim says with a nod, pouring himself a glass of water and turning to brace his hips against the counter's edge, keeping a careful amount of disinterest in his eyes when he meets his partner's gaze from across the kitchen. "Are you almost done, David?" His son's bowl of macaroni is over half gone and he can tell he is more distracted by Spock's data slate than his lunch. "One more bite, bud, and then I'm taking you to Matthew's." 

David takes one more hurried bite before pushing his bowl and spoon away and leaning up on his knees to cast his arms around Spock's shoulders for a fleeting embrace. "Goodbye, Mr. Spock! See you later!" He says cheerfully before sliding down off the bar-stool and scampering out of the kitchen and into the front hall. 

"I'll be back in about forty minutes." Jim says by way of farewell to Spock, pausing alongside his companion and pressing a chaste kiss to the Vulcan's cheek. He doesn't get away with it however, because long fingers wrap around his wrist as he is about to pull away, dragging him back a step. Spock straightens and lifts his face, arching an expectant brow. "What?" Jim asks with a grin, blue eyes sparkling. 

"A proper parting, James." Spock clarifies, his fingers sliding down Jim's wrist to graze his own curled digits. 

"All you had to do was ask." Smiling, Jim leans down a fraction and presses his lips to Spock's, tangling the fingers of their two hands together for Spock's benefit. The kiss is quick, but when Jim pulls away this time, Spock's eyes are half lidded and he seems satisfied with the gesture, for he releases Jim.

Finding David in the laborious process of trying to tug his winter coat down off the hanger in the closet, Jim removes it for him and holds it open while David slides into it, spinning his son around to zip it up to his chin. After wrapping a scarf around David's neck and pulling a hat down over his head, Jim helps the child into his rubber boots before handing him his backpack and hunting up his own heavy workman's boots and jacket. 

"G'bye Mr. Spock!" David calls again from the foyer, to which Spock replies from in the kitchen readily enough. 

"Good afternoon, David. Enjoy yourself." 

 

Upon his return from dropping David off, Jim enters the house with a shiver and some snowy tracks. "Thank God the snow has let up at least..." He grumbles, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it up; leaving his boots to dry by the door. "Spock?" He doesn't have to look far when he notices a sleek, black cap of hair settled on the sofa. What he finds is Spock, reclined, with his long legs stretched out before him under the coffee table and his hands folded peacefully on his lap. His eyes are closed in a serene image of sleep and Jim creeps a few steps closer while dragging the folded blanket off the back of the sofa. He tries to drape it over Spock's lap and legs without waking the Vulcan, or the kitten wedged in against the side of his leg, also slumbering, but brown eyes flicker open on a deep breath and still Jim's efforts. 

"Sorry." He says with a grimace at Spock, "I shouldn't have done anything to wake you, if I had known you would be napping..." Jim trails off at the shake of Spock's head. 

"I was not asleep, Jim, merely meditating." Sitting up, Spock doesn't seem aware that he has a furry companion at his right, because he blinks and shifts when a small squeak escapes the creature when she is disturbed. 

"Oh," lowering the blanket, Jim stares at his partner, "I don't think I've ever seen you meditate." 

"It is most commonly a private practice for Vulcans." Spock explains, to which Jim looks remorseful again. 

"Sorry, should I leave you to it?" Draping the blanket over the armrest of the chair at his hip, Jim takes a half step away, only to be forestalled by Spock's open hand inviting him close again. 

"Your presence is not a disturbance to me, Jim. Come and sit down, warm yourself in front of the fire." 

Sinking down onto the couch cushions, Jim relaxes into the comfort of its embrace and tugs his gloves and hat off, depositing them on the end table beside him. "This will be the first night I've been without David since," he thinks for a moment, squinting up at the mantelpiece, "probably since I first took him into my care." 

"You are not required at the tavern?" Spock asks. 

"Surprisingly no, which means," Jim grins, "we're going on a date." 

A slender brow arches in his direction, and his smile to widens when Spock's deep voice questions, "you wish us to court in the traditional sense?" 

"Well, yeah, even though it's probably not traditional to you," Jim answers. 

"In my culture, the mate is chosen in childhood, the two destined to be bonded at a later time when circumstances require it." Spock says, and Jim can tell he is choosing his words carefully. Vulcans are not commonly known to divulge information deemed personal or private about their people and Jim feels a little flattered that Spock even tries to loosely explain a culture so secretive that Jim had often compared their council to clams. 

"Oh," and then Jim gets it, "does that mean you, um-" Abruptly ceasing his line of thought, Jim tries not to think of himself as some 'man-stealing' lech. Did Spock have a mate he was betrothed to? 

"T'Pring is dead," Spock says simply, throwing Jim for a loop. "She died in the destruction of Vulcan." Rather than sadness for this one person in Spock's deep brown eyes, they turn heavy with sorrow for the loss of his people as a whole. Only roughly ten-thousand Vulcans had survived the attack on their home planet and Jim couldn't say he had ever seen a more haunted looking group of refugees than those he had aided in Starfleet's effort to evacuate survivors to embassies throughout the Federation. But even in their sorrow, Jim had seen strength and determination in those people, a culture strong enough to rebuild again. 

"I'm sorry, Spock." Jim murmurs his tone somber. Spock had tried to explain it once when they had been aboard the Enterprise, his words aligning with those of his older counterpart in Jim's mind. The sheer number of lives lost, their screams heard across galaxies in the minds of their brethren. Jim couldn't imagine what that had sounded like, what it had felt like. But if the haunted looks in the eyes of Vulcan survivors were anything to go by, he didn't think he would have stood a chance against that crushing weight. Just a taste of that pain from one being had been almost too much for him Jim recalls, as his mind casts back towards the memory of his brief meld with Ambassador Selik. 

"We were not close," Spock assures him softly, "She had planned on breaking our betrothal bond; she did not appreciate being bonded to a half breed." 

"Her loss," Jim cuts in, blue eyes turned to hard stone, his tone possessive. Rather than reply, Spock simply inclines his head, allowing Jim his satisfaction in staking a claim. Changing the subject abruptly, Jim tries to steer the conversation away to something more pleasant, "Well, with my evening looking as wide open and free as a pasture..." he grunts, half turning to regard Spock fondly, "what should we do?" 

Spock is quiet and introspective for a moment, tilting his head to make his suggestion with an arched brow, "Dinner?" 

Grinning, Jim nods, "Dinner. Italian sound bearable?" 

"Certainly." 

 

Later that evening, Jim steps out of the shower, wiping the steam off the mirror with his towel before running the water in the sink to shave. His bandage is off and Spock had removed the minor stitches from his temple the day before, but a jagged scab remains traversing the curve of his face on the left side. He shaves around the tail end carefully, regarding his reflection in the mirror. 

He has no idea how tonight will go aside from dinner. He has no previous dates with Spock to go on; this is the very first one where they are a genuine couple and not simply pretending or taking shore leave dirt-side for one night. In dates he had gone on with women, Jim had known exactly where the night would lead; hopefully their beds if he were lucky. But Spock was different, Jim had told him he wished to take things slow, not screw everything up like he often did. But Jim is certain he isn't the only one considering the date and the number of weeks until Spock's return into space. He doesn't think about it often, but when he does, he cannot help but feel a little trapped. They have so very little time before they will be separated and a part of Jim, a very selfish and impatient part, desires to push the limits as always. 

Rinsing stray stubble off his chin and neck, Jim pats his face dry and cinches the belt of his robe tight around his waist before emerging in the hallway. Across the landing, Jim can see Spock's bedroom door is shut and knows that behind it the Vulcan is also readying himself for their night out. Somehow, Jim doubts he is anywhere as nervous as Jim is. Nerves are, after all, illogical. 

In his room, Jim rifles through his closet, eventually deciding that warmth would be a better choice than fancy style, so he drags on a pair of black jeans and a high-necked knit sweater. He finds his leather jacket at the back of the closet, fingering the sleeve idly as memories attached to the article of clothing come flooding back. He hadn't worn the jacket since he had entered Starfleet; from then on it had always been some form of cadet reds or leisure clothes, which had been the most comfortable. Since moving to Iowa, Jim has worn a lot of dumb cardigans and sweatshirts, since they have been the easiest when dealing with a four to five year old kid running around and spilling shit on you. He tugs the jacket free of its hanger, donning it like a piece of a past life and is satisfied that it still fits, adjusting the collar and snagging a grey scarf from a hook on the back of his door. Tying the scarf around his neck, he shoves his hands into his jean pockets, ambling downstairs to sit on the bottom step and drag his boots on, stuffing the edges of his narrow pant-legs into their wide cuffs to keep the snow out. 

Above him, Jim hears Spock's bedroom door open and he lifts his head to peer up at his companion, half turning and levering himself up onto his feet with the aid of the banister at his side. On the landing, Spock is just pulling on his own jacket, one he must have brought with him from San Francisco. It isn't the water-proof down-alternative Jim had taken him into town to buy earlier that winter, but rather a thick wool coat that sweeps down to just above his knees with wide lapels and a stiff collar. Jim lets his eyes linger, taking in the high collared ebony sweater and dark blue jeans Jim can't remember ever seeing him in. A silver belt-buckle, Starfleet issued; gleams at his waist and Jim remembers to look up and meet Spock's eyes as the Vulcan slowly descends the stairs, his expression somewhat somber. His hands are firmly placed in the pockets of his long coat, but Jim takes him by the elbow all the same. 

"You look...good." Jim finally says, swallowing past the urge to suggest they just stay home, damn the dinner. But Spock looks a little stiff, and it isn't just the high collar of his sweater or the black knit scarf around his neck that does it. "What's on your mind?" Jim frowns, sliding his hand back into his pocket in order to give Spock a little space as they pause in the foyer before the front door. 

"I am not...familiar with what one does on a date." Spock finally admits after one of Jim's long stares. 

"Pretty much whatever we want," Jim snorts, "The world is our oyster, Spock." 

The Vulcan frowns at the comparison, seemingly about to make a rebuttal but falling silent when Jim claps him on the shoulder. "It's just a metaphor, Spock. We can do whatever you want." He shrugs, snatching up his keys from the small table by the door and rubbing his thumb over the sensor pad on the key-chain. Outside, his new car unlocks with a soft beep, recognizing his thumbprint. 

"You and Uhura never went on dates, Spock?" Jim asks his breath puffing in a small cloud before him as he stops to lock the door behind them with Spock poised on the porch at his side. 

"Given that our relationship only lasted a three months and our time together consisted of free time between shifts on the bridge, I do not understand how you might think we had any time for proper courtship." Spock replies promptly, but Jim can't see any form of discomfort in Spock's posture at the topic. They round the car with Jim sliding into the driver's side and Spock along the passenger side. 

"Hello James," the car's A.I. greets him in a low voice as it powers on, Jim's face appearing on the screen before him for facial recognition. "What is your destination?" 

Hesitating, Jim realizes he had forgotten what David had dubbed their new car and so he mutters with a sheepish glance at Spock, "One-hundred and four South Linn Street, Iowa City Mr. Spock." Jim directs, to which Spock turns a confused glance towards him. It's only when the A.I. replies with a confirmation that his confusion smooths out into understanding. 

Jim smirks, "It wasn't me who named it, it was David. He yelled your name from the backseat before I could say a thing." He chuckles. 

"So now my name has been reduced to that of an automobile's..." Spock says blandly, but it only takes a single glance from Jim for him to see the amusement in the Vulcan's warm eyes at David's enthusiasm. 

"It's because the A.I. sounds like you." Jim explains. 

Spock lifts a brow at him, "It sounds nothing like me." 

Grinning, Jim backs down the driveway, getting out to open the gate at the bottom of the hill and closing it behind them as well. It causes Spock to comment, "Is the crime rate in Iowa so dismal that you must close and lock your gate so often?" 

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time the house was broken into. When mom was living here, she went into town on an errand and came back to find a window smashed and some of her things missing. So better to be safe than sorry, I think." 

They ride out the twenty minute drive into Iowa City with the radio playing softly in the background, interrupted halfway through one song for a road report. Over all, it has an entirely domestic feel to it and Jim can't help but relax, his nerves fading away when he realizes a date with Spock is almost like a reunion with an old friend. After all, he and Spock hadn't talked a whole lot since his arrival in Iowa, at least not in a relaxed fashion. Out here, Jim wouldn't have to censor himself because he was within earshot of a child. Tonight, they could talk about things adults enjoyed, not about the merits of kiddie shows or what constituted a healthy lunch for a growing boy. Of course, Jim enjoyed even the smallest of interactions because he had missed them, but sometimes it was nice to kick off the boots and talk off the cuff. 

The restaurant wasn't too full when the two of them found a parking spot off the road, Spock tipping his head up to read the name of the place aloud, "Baroncini." He turns to Jim as he steps up onto the sidewalk, "that word is not familiar to me." 

"I believe it's a family name, Spock." Jim smiles and ushers Spock towards the door beneath a red and gold striped awning. The quiet clinking of flatware and glasses envelopes them both upon entering along with strong scents of fresh oregano, thyme, and sage. A host meets them at the door with two menus and Jim smiles at him slightly. 

"Hello folks, my name is Raymond and I will be your host tonight. A table for two?" When met with a nod, the man takes them through the narrow restaurant towards a booth, sitting them near another group of diners.

Jim pauses, forestalling Spock with a light touch against his elbow and turning to address the host, "Could we be a little separate from everyone else?"

"Of course," Raymond concedes, motioning them forward towards the quieter back area of the restaurant. Jim pauses at a table, the host setting their menus down for them as they sit. "Would you like me to check your coats?" Their host takes Jim's leather jacket and Spock's long wool coat, giving them the chance to have a look around and settle at their table before he returns. 

The lighting is low and tasteful, every table possessing a single dim lamp suspended from the ceiling above. The tables are real wood and are draped with white table cloths; wine glasses are turned upside down before them and a center votive candle flame flickers. It's undoubtedly romantic and Jim can't help but feel a little out of place. He hadn't taken a date here before, which was part of the reason he had chosen the place, no memories of past conquests to make him fidget. 

"Would you two be interested in our local selection of wines?" Raymond asks without missing a beat upon his return and Jim executes a small shrug, casting a glance at Spock. He knows Spock doesn't exactly mind alcohol; it doesn't have the same effect over him with his faster metabolism as it does on a human. so Jim shakes his head in polite refusal. He doesn't need alcohol to have a good time. "Your server will be right out then." Raymond says before departing. 

When they are finally alone again, Jim lets himself look at Spock, really look at him. The ambient glow of the restaurant lights reflect off his partner's silky jet black hair, Spock's warm brown eyes are steeped in curious observation. It doesn't take Jim long to realize he is being studied as well, and he shifts in his seat a little when he notes Spock's close scrutiny. "Something on my face?" Jim asks in an attempt to bring some levity to the silence stretching out between them. Conversations had always been a little hard to start with Spock, but once they got going, it was easy. 

"No, Jim. Does my observation of you bring you discomfort?" Spock gives a curious tilt of his head, the same gesture Jim had thought was endearing for quite some time. 

"Not really." Jim murmurs, "But these table clothes aren't long enough for us to discreetly play footsie, so you'll have to stop looking at me like that." He smiles, a smug little twitch to his lips. 

The confused pucker of Spock's brows let Jim know he doesn't have any idea what 'footsie' is, but Jim doesn't have time to enlighten him before their server arrives with a carafe of ice water and two short glasses. She is young, probably in her early twenties, but she casts them both a short glance for measure as she directs their attention to the menus. 

"Good evening, my name is Sandy; I'll be your server tonight. If at any point you would like some drinks from the bar, I would be happy to get them for you gentlemen." She says, discretely reaching for their menus and flipping them over to their front side, "Today's special is our caserecce alla boscaiola. It consists of our fresh house made caserecce pasta with mushrooms and green peas, topped with our Bolognese sauce. Could I recommend any starters for you two?" She asks, sliding her hands into her front apron pockets with her gaze firmly landing on Jim's side of the table. It isn't hard to see she is more comfortable talking to him. 

"That sounds lovely but not vegetarian." Jim replies with a subtle glance across the table at Spock. He takes a quick glance over the appetizer list and picks one on a whim, "Uh, that one," he points to the long string of Italian words, not wanting to slaughter the language aloud. 

When they are finally free of her company, Jim grins at Spock from across the table, "You make her uncomfortable." 

"And you find it amusing." Spock replies, making Jim laugh. 

"Only in Iowa," he says with a sigh, shaking his head. "You'd think she had never seen an out-of-towner." He chuckles, smirking at his menu. "Do you remember the last time we did this, Spock?" 

The Vulcan frowns a fraction, "We have never embarked on such an outing as this before, Jim." 

"I know, except for that one time we had to pretend. Do you remember that?" 

"Of course I remember," Spock says stubbornly, reaching for the carafe of water and pouring them each a full glass, passing Jim's across the table, "we were endeavoring to fool the locals of a rather hostile and strange people at their common meeting place." 

"In plain words Spock, we pretended to be a couple to fool the primarily male species on Vox XI at their local watering hole." Jim laughs. 

Spock arches a brow, "That is what I said." 

"That bartender wasn't nice in the slightest, do you remember? He asked me, not in so many words, if you were a good bed-mate." Jim smirks, keeping his voice low and their conversation private. 

Spock's eyes shine at him from across the table, "You were certain they would see through our disguises and capture us." 

"Take us away to their slave cages." Jim says with a nod, "luckily we got the hell out of there before they got too suspicious. I can't imagine living in a world like that, where the majority of the population is made up of males, women passed about like treasured mules." 

"Earth is predominantly male, Jim." Spock retorts. 

"Yeah, but it's never been that bad." 

Their server returns with their appetizer, which Jim finds is pretty good when he takes a bite of it. It is a flan of taleggio cheese alongside sautéed spinach topped with porcini mushroom sauce. It is laden with cream, but Spock seems to like it too, if his dwindling side of the plate is anything to go by a few minutes later. They order their entrees with Spock ordering a plain and simple vegetarian pasta and Jim ordering ravioli, swapping out the meat sauce for something plain as well. He had realized that it would be common courtesy, as the partner of a vegetarian Vulcan, to refrain from consuming any meat. Especially if he wants to receive any goodnight kisses. 

When the appetizer plate has been set aside with only its garnish still intact and they are waiting for their entrees to be delivered, Jim asks, "How do you think David is doing?" 

Rather than repeat some useless platitude or offer false words of comfort, Spock considers his question seriously, replying with a confident lift of his chin, "Given the circumstances and David's tendency to be comfortable only in the presence of those he knows, cross-referenced with the fact that this is his very first night away from home..." Spock pauses, letting those words sink in a bit before continuing, "I would say the likelihood that his amusement is distracting him for the moment is rather high." 

"I know what you mean," Jim nods, looking down at his arms crossed along the edge of the table before him, "it could all change come bedtime." 

It is long after they have gotten their entrees when Spock sits back from his plate, setting his fork aside and taking a sip of water. Jim can't help but sense a difficult topic brewing and he watches Spock intently until he speaks, their companionable silence broken. "Jim," Spock begins, "now that your pension has been reinstated," he pauses, no doubt forming his words to his liking before speaking them. Jim sits back, wiping his mouth on his napkin and setting his back in his lap. "Have you considered the merits of terminating your employ at the local tavern?" 

He can't say he is surprised, Jim had sort of seen this conversation coming. Ever since he had gotten that letter from Spock earlier that week, Jim had thought about the disapproval and concern that had passed through Spock's eyes every time he had gone to work since the night he had come home from that bar fight. He can't deny that it would be easy, even a relief to hand in his two weeks' notice and live on his pension alone. But a part of him tries to think ahead, at least when it comes to his finances and he can't help but think keeping a job under his belt, even if it is just for a supplementary income, could never hurt. Someday, David would most likely go to college and Jim wanted to be able to help him with that expense.

Taking a sip of water, Jim spins the glass idly around in the cage of his fingertips against the tabletop, "The truth, Spock? I don't know. It would be nice to find a day job somewhere, something that would free up my evenings for David. But I'm beginning to think I'm not going to find anything like that in Riverside." 

"Have you considered returning to Starfleet, even in some small capacity?" Spock inquires, making Jim tense a little in his seat. 

"I don't know Spock, what could I possibly do besides Captain another ship? And that is out of the question; I will not leave David behind to go gallivanting across the galaxy again. Maybe," he bites his lip, "maybe later, when he's older and moved out perhaps. But right now? The only thing I had considered was perhaps asking for a teaching position. I have no damn idea what I would teach," Jim snorts, "but it was a thought." 

"Have you considered the position of recruiting officer?" Spock asks his tone light. Too light, Jim notices.

With narrowed eyes, Jim studies his partner's face for any kind of tell, but Spock's face is flawlessly smooth and impassive. "Those posts are normally filled, Spock. They ask the higher-ups to do it, or they hire some charismatic show-stoppers to go to colleges and high schools and make these big old presentations to make Starfleet look like something grand." Shaking his head, Jim tucks back into his food, even though his appetite is beginning to wane. 

"You would be the most logical candidate for the position, Jim. Your name has become well known and you are one of the officers most recognized and decorated by Starfleet. As an exemplary former ship's Captain, who better than to guide Federation youth toward a future in Starfleet?" Spock suggests, presenting a logical stand-point, of course. It doesn't mean the idea sits entirely well with Jim. 

"I don't know Spock, what if I become jaded? Watching all those young kids going off to pursue their dreams..."

"Can you not pursue any of your own, James?" Spock asks in a tone that makes Jim think he must be waiting for Jim to meet his gaze, but he doesn't give in, directing his attention towards his plate instead until a hand reaches into his field of vision and forces him to look up. Spock's hand rests on the table between them, outstretched past their plates and glasses and yet hidden against the wall they are seated against. Brown eyes full of intense determination trap his and Jim slowly sets down his fork, sliding his hand across the table gingerly until their fingers brush together above the table cloth. 

"Right now, Spock? I have no clue what my dream is anymore..." Jim says with a slow, sad shake of his head. "Everything seems out of order now and I haven't had much time to think about it. Maybe I'll figure it out some day, but right now?" He swallows, "it's enough to be sitting here with you right now." He withdraws with a short, guttural clearing of his throat and a glance at their returning server, her bright smile ruining their tense moment. He pastes a disingenuous smile on his face, assuring her that their meals taste fine and that they are satisfied. He asks her to bring their check in another twenty minutes and she dismisses herself with a short glance at Spock, who looks just as unflappable as he had before. 

They leave a short while later, foregoing dessert to stop instead an ice cream parlor. Spock gets a scoop of coconut sorbet in a cup and Jim orders a tower of chocolate and peanut butter ice cream on a waffle cone. Rather than get into Jim's new car with their desserts, Jim points them down the sidewalk towards a city park, passing through an opening in the chain link fence. He licks at his ice cream, gesturing towards a pair of snow-dusted swings and shaking the snow free with rattling chains before sitting down. Spock eats spoonfuls of his sorbet, seemingly content. 

"So how was your first date in the history of ever?" Jim asks with an infectious grin. 

"It was most agreeable, Jim. I think perhaps it had to have been the company I kept, however." Spock murmurs, picking at his dessert with his plastic spoon. 

Jim stills in the swing, letting his weight slow his slight swaying as he looks at Spock with some disbelief. 

"Don't look so surprised, Jim." Spock murmurs and Jim swears he can hear a note of teasing in that voice; the Vulcan's features are cast in shadow from the street lamp behind them. "I can openly say that I prefer your company over the company of all others. If I did not, do you think I would have asked you to enter into an intimate relationship with me?" 

"No, I guess not." Jim blinks, "It's just sort of a shock, I guess...hearing it out loud." Smiling, Jim whips a glance around the empty park and the soundless street, with only the hissing whisper of cars passing behind them to break the silence. Pushing his foot into the snow, he levers himself to the right in his swing, stretching his neck out to press a cold-lipped kiss to Spock's mouth. When he swings back the other way he is amused to see Spock's surprise, his profile lit in orange by the street light. "We should do this more often." Jim sighs, crunching on the outer edges of his waffle cone. 

Spock gives a shiver in his wool coat, hunching his shoulders until he can tuck his chin down into the warm confines of his scarf, "I do not understand the appeal of eating such a cold dish when it is below freezing outside." 

"Humans like ice cream year-round, Spock. Better get used to it." Jim chuckles, getting to his feet and finishing his cone with one last crunching bite and dusting the crumbs off the front of his jeans. "C'mon, let's get you warmed up in the car and head home." 

On their drive back, Jim stops at a light and stretches his back, casting a side-long glance at Spock in the passenger seat to find the Vulcan already looking at him. "What?" 

Instead of replying, Spock simply shakes his head minutely, brown eyes flitting away to look out the window once more. Reaching across the center console, Jim holds his fingers out towards Spock's and is surprised when instead of taking his hand, Spock molds his fingers into an odd shape. He is left with his first two fingers outstretched, the rest curled in towards his palm and he holds the gesture out towards Spock. The light changes, but he doesn't miss the softening of Spock's features when he reflects the motion, their paired fingers gliding across one another. It doesn't seem like anything to Jim, but with another short glance at Spock, Jim notices his partner's eyes are shut. "What's that mean?" He asks when both his hands are back on the wheel again, Spock's own folded loosely in his own lap again. 

"It is a gesture that signifies affection amongst Vulcans, more specifically amongst mated pairs." Spock explains, his voice soft in the cab of the car. 

"So it's...like a kiss?" Jim asks, brows lifting. 

"More akin to hand-holding in your culture, but it is not so freely given. I would not make the gesture towards someone I deemed a friend, as humans might hold hands amongst friends." 

"Alright, so a sacred holding of hands." Jim says with a crooked smile, which only widens when Spock concedes to his point with a partial nod. "I don't feel anything, but you must, right? Vulcan's being touch telepaths and all." 

"I can sense your mind through the touch, yes." Spock says distantly, his gaze unfocused out the windshield and into the night. "Just the spectrum of your emotions." 

"Sorry, must feel like a mess a lot of the time." He says, smirking as they turn into the farmhouse driveway. 

"I have grown accustomed to the turmoil that is your mind. It is...familiar to me." Spock says and both he and Jim share a long look with one another as Jim pauses in his motions to get out and unlock the gate. Jim's smile is slow to build, but shaves years off his face with it's warmth. 

In the yard before the house, Spock pauses in the snow to tilt his head back and gaze up at the sky. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Jim joins him, their shoulders brushing. Lazy, light flakes still drift from the open sky, but the clouds remain in the distance, exposing to them a great expanse of darkness lit brilliantly with pinpricks of stars. After a moment, Spock lifts his hand and tilts his head in towards Jim's, pointing out a flashing blip to their East, "That is the Enterprise in Space-dock, Jim." 

They stand there and watch it slowly disappear in the Earth's rotation, to be seen again another night. Jim breaks the spell of her majestic departure, dragging his glove off and forming his first two fingers into a pair again, reaching down to link them loosely around Spock's own. "C'mon, let's go in...Before you're solid ice." Jim chuckles, dragging his keys out of his pocket. 

After taking the time to tend to the fire in the hearth, Jim shrugs out of his leather jacket, draping it over the back of the sofa and fitting his fingers over Spock's shoulders to assist him with his long coat. Their scarves follow a moment later, and then their gloves. Spock's cheeks are flushed from the cold, a delicate green that reaches from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. Reaching for the thermostat on the wall, Jim turns the heat up a few more degrees, wanting the upstairs to have a chance to get warm before they retire for the night. When he turns back around, Spock is a step closer than he had anticipated, causing him to take a step back in surprise. His Vulcan partner gains that ground with one stride, gentle hands finding and lifting Jim's face up in the short moment before a kiss. Jim's shoulders collide softly with the wall behind him, his hands automatically finding purchase on Spock's frame to balance him. 

The kiss isn't insistent, but it isn't slow either and Jim feels his body respond to the gentleness of Spock's touch and the clever press of his lips. They are chilled but quickly warmed against his own, a shock of tongue lightly tasting his skin to fulfill the Vulcan's tenacious sense of curiosity. Warm fingers glide into his hair, tipping his head back even further as lean muscle and strength pins him to the wall. Spock's body is hard and warm, a contradiction to how he had always looked in Jim's head. In Jim's mind Spock had always seemed supple, lithe like a predator and yet graceful and careful of movement. Spock rarely made unnecessary movements, he didn't shrug or fidget like most people did, every shift of his limbs was deliberate, only lending to his sense of grace. 

Jim groans against Spock's parted lips, his thoughts dashed aside. His hands slide over Spock's back, mapping the expanse of his shoulders and the ridges of his spine through the soft material of his sweater. When Spock's lips shift down to the column of his throat, Jim sucks in a ragged breath, lifting his chin to give Spock more space; his hands finding the Vulcan's hips clad in those tight jeans. His fingers pluck at fabric, skimming beneath the hem of Spock's sweater and he shudders when his lover's answer is to nip lightly on the loose skin above his collarbone. Tentative fingers slide beneath Spock's sweater, feeling the rapid thrum of Spock's heartbeat beneath one hand and the valleys between the Vulcan's ribs beneath the other. Spock hums low in his throat; a thrilling admission to pleasure that makes Jim's blood boil. He gives one of Spock's shoulders a gentle shove, parting them long enough to get a few words out. 

"Upstairs...the bed." Dark eyes that seem almost black sweep over Jim's face before a hand closes around his wrist, dragging him away from the wall and around the corner into the stairwell. They stagger up the steps towards the master bedroom, Jim stripping his sweater off over his head as he goes and turning to look back at Spock, hunger for the Vulcan singing in his veins. 

Spock shuts the door behind them without removing his eyes from Jim, crossing the rug in long strides that sway his shoulders invitingly. Licking his lips, Jim snags the bottom hem of Spock's sweater, dragging it up over his torso and revealing more pale skin. He pulls it off over Spock's head, mussing the man's normally perfect cap of raven hair. His fingers clutch at Spock's waist, moving him forward until their chests press together, warm skin colliding with warmer skin. A short gasp is drawn out of Spock as their bodies fit together, both their mouths questing across new and unexplored skin. Strong hands grip the curves of Jim's shoulders tightly, restricting his movements. He can reach Spock's throat however and he sucks a solitary mark into the pale flesh, Spock's ragged cry fuel to his desperate fire. 

Guiding steps take him back in the direction of the bed and Jim stumbles, is righted again by Spock's steadying hold, only to be dragged down towards the bed by a weight like a solid anchor. Falling in a sprawl across the mattress, Jim is only dimly aware of being divested of his trousers, his gaze more intently focused on the ripples of muscle in Spock's shoulders and abdomen as he bends over him, working the jeans off Jim's hips and dropping them to the floor. With a flash of intuition, Jim sits up and fits his fingers around the buckle of Spock's belt. A hand smooths over his head and when he looks up Spock is watching him, an openness to his expression that Jim wants to hold in his gaze forever. 

Whipping the belt from Spock's hips in one fluid motion, Jim presses his lips to the soft dusting of hair over Spock's lower abdomen, feeling the muscles jump and tense beneath his lips. His fingers work Spock's pants open, pushing them down until they drop to the floor and skimming his fingernails along the bottom hemline of Spock's fitted briefs. "Jim..." A low voice almost growls his name and Jim looks up; startled. "Stand up." The command is riling but Jim doesn't chafe at this kind of authority, rather it excites him further to hear the steel in Spock's normally calm voice. But rather than obey, Jim cups his hands over Spock's hips and follows their shape down to the curve of Spock's backside. He takes two handfuls of that ass and grips the material of Spock's briefs, dragging them down slowly and coasting his gaze up the line of Spock's body to catch his reaction. 

Spock's features are pinched, each of them in conflict with one another. His lips are thinly pursed, his brows furrowed deeply and his jaw tight, but his eyes are two wild things staring down at Jim, charged with the heat of desire. "Please..." Spock's voice, softened somehow and pleading, reaches Jim through a haze of arousal. With Spock's last article of clothing freed, Jim leans back, resting his hands on the outsides of Spock's thighs so he might look at the full extent of his lover's body. He had seen parts of Spock during the course of their service together, but never his body fully exposed and in all its glory. What he finds is strangely familiar, and yet not. Spock is long and lean, much like the rest of him. When he reaches out to wrap his fingers around his lover's shaft, not only is he hot like a brand, but oddly slick. Spock is lost somewhere above him and Jim hears his moan when he thumbs the underside of the Vulcan's need. It is ridged, the crown flared while flushed the deepest green Jim has ever seen in a person. But before he can decide just what he should do with it, Spock is grasping him by the shoulders and pushing him back into the bed sheets. 

Grunting with the full weight of a Vulcan pressing down over him, Jim arches beneath his partner. In the tangle of sheets, Jim rolls them onto their sides, invading Spock's space and slotting their mouths together in a kiss far more demanding than the last. He rakes his teeth over Spock's lower lip, swallowing the moan he is rewarded with and letting his hands wander over and clutch at his lover. Tucking one arm beneath Spock's head, Jim holds him close, trapped against his body. Spock's eyes flick up to meet his, searching them. With their foreheads pressed together, Spock's eyes flutter shut and Jim knows he must be feeling his chaotic mind, fraught with raw emotion and alive with lust. 

Shoving his own briefs down, Jim takes himself in hand, draping a leg over Spock's hip and wedging them closer still until their cocks touch. Groaning, Jim bites down into the soft pillow of his bottom lip, already breathing so hard he sounds like he's just come off a marathon run. Spock is slick and hot in Jim's hand; his fingers stroke their straining flesh, squeezing to strip away yet another layer of Spock's composure. His expression is lit with an exquisite agony like none Jim has ever witnessed in him, a precious baring of a soul he wants to snatch up for himself. Spock's spine bows, his hands tight where they grip Jim's arm and around towards his back, hard enough that Jim knows he'll bruise. But he cannot bring himself to care about that as Spock's restraint breaks with a clever twist of Jim's wrist. Brown eyes open wide, staring straight through Jim and piercing him. Their voices cry out in unison as they reach a shaking release, bodies wound tight like violin strings and slowly relaxing with every ragged breath. 

Jim rests his hand against Spock's side, feels the swift tremor of his heart beneath his skin, so delicate and fast it makes Jim smile. "God, Spock..." Jim pants, "That was...one of the single most arousing moments of my entire life." He says with a shaky laugh, rolling over onto his back, every limb heavy with exhaustion. Spock takes a little longer to recover and when Jim looks at him, he can almost see the Vulcan withdrawing into himself, pulling a shutter down over all that raw emotion he had glimpsed just seconds before they had climaxed. "Hey...no, no, no," Jim says, sitting up onto his elbow, "come back here." He pleads, sweeping his fingers through Spock's hair. 

Spock lays a hand along Jim's shoulder, "I am here, Jim..." He whispers, and Jim can see the affection in his brown eyes. 

"Don't shut me out." Jim whispers back, "please." 

Giving a slight shake of his head, Spock opens his palm against the back of Jim's head, drawing his lover down to rest against his shoulder and curling into him, protecting him. "I am simply...overwhelmed. Let me process, Jim." 

Falling silent, Jim listens to Spock's breath easing in and out of his lungs, calmer now and more even. It's only when Spock shifts to drag a blanket up over them both that he realizes he had been drifting off to sleep. He mutters under his breath, shifting to give Spock some room, only to find the Vulcan's arms locked around him, preventing him from pulling away. "M'sorry...didn't mean to fall asleep." Jim grumbles, inserting a hand between the two of them to rub at his eyes sleepily in a fashion reminiscent of David's sleepy habits. 

"Rest, Jim, you are tired." Spock's soothing baritone fills Jim's ear, lulls him back towards a safe haven of contentedness he hasn't found for quite a while. Fingertips drag across his skin, following the line of his spine and the dip of his hip where his waist begins and his ribs swell with each deep breath. Trapped in the enclosure of Spock's embrace, perfectly warm and relaxed, Jim nods off once again. The hour must be truly late when he wakes for a second time, horribly disoriented and twisting in the sheets at a distant noise reverberating in the room. Groaning, he wipes his hands down over his face, turning over onto his side with one of Spock's heavy arms draped across his waist. Reaching down over the side of the bed, he fishes his new comm. out of his trouser pocket and squints in pain at the bright screen. 

"Shit...who called it?" Jim grumbles, sitting up with a ragged sigh and answering the call from Mrs. Fisher. "Hello?" He pauses; listening. "Yeah, I figured as much. Yeah, I'll come get him, don't worry about it Mrs. Fisher. Give me twenty minutes, give him a glass of milk and sit him in front of the TV for a while. Okay, see you." He ends the call casting a weak smile over his shoulder, lit by the illumination of his comm. "Do you want to come with me to pick up a sad, frightened little boy?" 

"Give me five minutes." Spock murmurs, sitting up out of the darkness like a pale wraith and sliding from the bed. Jim watches him for a moment then reaches out and skims his fingertips over one bare hip before it disappears beneath denim jeans. With a grunt, he follows Spock around the room gathering their discarded clothes.

"He'll probably pass out in the car on the way home; you could probably stay if you didn't want to brave the cold." Jim offers. 

"I would rather be certain you and David are safe; it has started snowing again since you fell asleep." 

"You're worried even when I'm in a brand new car that you picked out?" Grinning, Jim snakes his arms around Spock's bare torso, leaning his cheek against one shoulder blade.

"Given your history, James," Spock says in mock disapproval, his tone light and teasing, "you would still manage to turn a safe vehicle into a death trap." 

"Fine," Jim snaps, squeezing Spock's biceps comfortingly before they disappear under soft, black cashmere. "You drive then." 

"Gladly," Spock murmurs, turning to place a gentle kiss to Jim's healing temple, earning a smile filled with Iowa sunshine.


	14. With Friends, We Give Thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Together we plunge into the Thanksgiving holiday with our boys and their best friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really exhausting to write, it's easy for me to keep track of three characters to write for in group dialogue. But when you add more than that, things get a little choppy and jumbled. I hope the spirit of Thanksgiving comes through in this chapter however. Enjoy, you wonderful readers! (Also, I don't claim to be the best with accents or to be 100% knowledgeable about the behavior of all extra characters in a setting outside the Enterprise, so bare with me).

Soft puffs of lazy snow drift down from a clear night sky outside Spock's bedroom window late one night. He's been watching their slow descent since laying down earlier that evening, unable to reach a full state of meditation for over an hour and finally giving up to try and rest. However, rest isn't coming easily to him tonight, his mind plagued by thoughts of James and David. More specifically, thoughts about the short amount of time left before he has to leave again. To a Vulcan, three years out of his long lifespan should not mean that much to him, but when he turns to face the inevitable separation, a piece of him rebels at the thought. Logic dictates that his growing relationship with Jim should not impact the current path of his life so very much, and yet... 

Slowly sitting up, Spock pushes the sheets of the guest bed back, his toes curling in reaction to the cold floor under his feet. Spock deliberates for a few moments in the hallway, looking towards David's darkened room. The sound of the child's soft breathing tells Spock he is asleep, but a shuffling from Jim's room tells him the opposite is true of his companion.

Outside Jim's closed bedroom door, Spock thinks back to the last night he had spent there. The memory is still fresh, even if it is now some few days old. The feel and scent of Jim's skin, the warmth of his body curled to fit against his own; he has nothing else with which to compare it and the memories flood his senses, driving him to distraction. Over the last few days, he and Jim have had only snatches of time alone together between Jim's working hours and David's school hours. With the holiday season upon them, Jim runs errands with or without Spock's company, always with the intent to make David's first Christmas in Iowa a memorable one. 

Sliding his fingers around the doorknob, Spock slips into Jim's bedroom unannounced and uninvited. He has refrained from sharing Jim's bed since their evening together, both he and Jim concerned that David would possibly seek out Jim's comfort during the night, only to find the two men together. Jim had pointed out that perhaps it would be best they slept apart, to which Spock had agreed. However, now that they have been doing just that for the past four days, Spock finds the arrangement less than amenable. 

The indistinct figure under the bed sheets across the room shifts and Jim's drowsy voice questions the room in a low murmur, "David?" 

Of course, the child's calling would be more common and expected than Spock's, but the distinction doesn't keep the Vulcan from second guessing his decision as he pads across the dim rectangle of light reflecting through the window. Jim turns over in bed, twisting sheets clinging to him, two shining eyes blearily opening in the dark. "Oh..." Jim mumbles; voice laced with understanding as he recognizes his lover. "Couldn't sleep either?" 

Reassured that he hadn't woke Jim, Spock crosses to the bed, sinking down to sit upon it's edge within reach of his partner. One of Jim's hands struggles free of the blankets, falling to rest tiredly over Spock's knee. "Or is David awake?" Jim asks, a slight frown forming a jagged line between his brows Spock can just make out in the gloom.

"He is the only one in this house sleeping currently..." Spock says with a dull sigh. 

Jim chuckles, "Not even the cat is asleep?" 

"Not at the moment." Spock says with a twist of his lips; a repressed smile. 

After considering Spock for a long moment, Jim shifts in the sheets, scooting back towards the far edge of the bed and folding the blankets back in open invitation. "C'mere...it's colder than Delta Vega out there." He says with a snort, "thanks for that, by the way." 

"I had believed we overcame that misunderstanding ages ago." Spock grunts, rolling onto his back upon Jim's mattress and allowing the blankets to be pulled up high over his form. Shifting to face Jim in the dark, Spock slides his arm beneath the pillows at the head of the bed. Jim squirms closer until the both of them lie squarely in the center of the mattress, Jim's face upturned towards Spock's and grinning in the dark.

"Hey, if you're going to keep bringing up my accident this winter, I'm going to keep reminding you that you marooned me on a goddamn mining planet." Jim says with a sardonic smirk. His warm fingers find the cold spots across Spock's face, mapping his cheeks and finally cupping over his ears to warm them beneath his palms. Spock relaxes under the touch, eyes flickering shut peacefully as his exhaustion, formerly held at bay by his rapid thoughts, catches up to him now. 

Resting a hand on Jim's hip, Spock curls his longer form forward to include his partner, dipping his head down over the pillows to press his nose into the familiar curls of hair atop Jim's head. A tentative voice pitched in a whisper breaks his tenuous hold on slumber some time later, Jim's curiosity hanging in the air between them. 

"Why couldn't you sleep?" He asks. 

Spock takes a long, deep breath that almost causes him to erupt into a yawn, his jaw clicking as he restrains himself until the urge passes. Blinking his eyes open in the dark, he knows Jim is studying him and there must be something showing across his face in the dim light to cause Jim to answer his own question first. 

"I was stupidly thinking about the next five weeks." Jim grumbles, sliding a hand over the plane of Spock's clothed chest. As Spock shifts to roll onto his back Jim follows, propping himself up on one elbow to gaze down at him from above. 

Reaching up, Spock curls his hand over the back of Jim's, resting over his sternum, "I too, was considering our remaining time together." 

"Why are we such idiots...?" Jim mutters, a thread of petulance in his whispering voice. He shifts to lay his head down against Spock's chest and the Vulcan moves in a manner that feels strangely natural, curling his arms around Jim's shoulders comfortably. "Because really, if we were smart, we wouldn't have started this knowing how it was going to end." 

"I believe you explained our reasons perfectly over a week ago, James." Spock rumbles, his voice careful and quiet in the dark, "you did not think the benefits of foregoing a relationship outweighed the benefits of pursuing one." 

"Yeah, only I said I'd hate myself for not even trying." Jim adds, shifting down the bed a few inches until he can place his ear across Spock's right side, squarely over the thrumming of his heartbeat. "Like I said, idiots..." 

"Are you," Spock searches the rafters above them, hoping what he is about to ask will not bring him knowledge he would rather not have, "having regrets?" 

"What?" Jim lifts his head abruptly, breaking Spock's hold around him so his hands slide uselessly down Jim's arms. "No, not at all. Not like you think anyway. My only regret is that this didn't come at a better time, you know?" Jim says with a sigh, pushing through the sheets until he can sit upright and unhindered. His light shirt has hitched up slightly, caught in the curve of his waist and exposing a pale triangle of bare skin. Spock skims his fingers down over that bare flesh, sliding his palm up over the curve of Jim's hunched frame. Jim's head rolls backward, falling between his shoulder blades with his face upturned towards the ceiling as he lets out a long breath and acquiesces to Spock's gentle touch. 

"Three years," Jim starts, leaving the thought hanging suspended in the air, like a sentence or a punishment. Angling his head to the side, Jim casts a glance back at Spock propped up in the bed on one elbow, "do you think we have a chance?" 

"I would not...ask you to wait, James." Spock says softly, immediately regretting his admission when it causes Jim to flinch. 

With his face turned away, Jim lets out a humorless, breathy laugh. "Funny, because I could never ask you to stay." 

Sitting up, Spock folds his legs under the blankets and presses Jim's shoulder aside, forcing him to turn toward him. Lifting his head, Jim meets his eyes, a sad half smile forming on his lips as he continues, "I want to, it's tempting and selfish of me, but I thought about it. But I know I can't, because I know you would and I couldn't do that to you." Jim says, an open hand finding Spock's face in the darkness and cupping to the curve of his cheek. Spock leans down into the touch, feeling the same shiver of emotion he had felt since that first day, something hard to contain or control. 

"You know I'll wait," Jim whispers, "because what sorry chance in hell is there for anyone else to ever catch my attention like you have? Just-" He bites down on his lips, fingers sliding back into Spock's hair at the base of his neck and curling tight, gripping him there firmly and forcing their eyes to meet, "don't get killed. It would completely shatter not only me, but David too." 

Wrapping his fingers around Jim's wrist, Spock forces Jim's hand to release him, taking both of Jim's hands in his own as they come to brace against his chest and tangle in the front of his sweater. "I will never leave thee." Spock whispers, determined to uphold that promise, "parted from me, but never parted." 

Jim's eyes squeeze tightly shut at his words and he moves, sliding forward on his knees to drape his arms across Spock's shoulders and toppling him to the bed. They are both weary, in both body and in mind, and so lay tangled together amongst the sheets and thick quilts of Jim's bed. It is only when Jim falls asleep with his back curled into Spock, the Vulcan's arm locked around his waist and his face turned away into the pillows, that Spock presses his cheek to the back of his head. With the tentative link between them, something that Spock has always acknowledged the existence of but never tried to access, he whispers words of comfort to Jim's sleeping consciousness, _'I will always come back to you, Jim.'_

 

The following morning sees a fresh blanket of snow on the ground and Jim is stirring only moments before Spock wakes. Jim turns over with a long groan of protest at the brighter light in the room, burying his face under the curve of Spock's chin to block it out and chasing the last dregs of sleep. Spock skims his fingernails through Jim's tangled mess of hair, amused at it's bird's nest appearance at this early hour. "Stop laughing at me..." Jim grumbles, voice muffled by the collar of Spock's sweater. 

"I am doing no such thing." Spock murmurs, but he knows his amusement is plain in his rebellious, human eyes and Jim catches him at it when he lifts his head from hiding. 

"Yeah right," He snorts, his expression softening from sleep into an expression of affection, "good morning." 

"Good morning," Spock returns, rolling onto his back. Jim's hand brushes his bangs back off his forehead, causing him to arch a brow in confusion and mild annoyance when Jim begins to laugh. 

"There, now we're even. I've seen what you look like without bangs and the sight is terrifying." Rolling over, Jim struggles free of the tangled blankets, shivering and snagging a pair of sweat pants off the floor to pull on. "Oh, happy Thanksgiving, by the way," He intones on his way across the room toward the bathroom. 

That single statement causes Spock's thoughts to return to a second problem he had been considering the night before; how to get James out of the house long enough for the unexpected guests to arrive. When Jim returns, he looks a little less unkempt, though not yet clean shaven. He worms his way back into bed, forcing Spock to budge over across the mattress and stealing his heat. 

"I was thinking I would just go into town and get us all some Thai food so we can just spend the day eating and sitting around in front of the television. Maybe watch 'It's a Wonderful Life', or something." Jim mumbles, burrowing beneath the blankets and resting his temple against Spock's shoulder, both of them staring up at the ceiling but thinking about two very different versions of Thanksgiving. 

Seeing an opportunity, Spock lets the situation unfold, "That would be most agreeable." 

Jim's eyes flutter and he cranes his neck to get a better look at his Vulcan partner, "Really?" He asks in disbelief, "I thought you'd start arguing about traditions..." 

"As you have pointed out before, I do not have a history of celebrating Thanksgiving. The object of it is to gather with one's friends and family to eat a rather disproportionately large meal together, is it not?" 

"I was planning on ordering a lot of Thai food." Jim corrects, "So yeah, sounds about right." 

"Then it seems that is what we will do." He isn't lying, because they will be amongst friends and family, Jim just doesn't yet realize how large a group of friends and family they will be. Spock had had a hard time convincing David to keep their secret for the past week, warning the child not to say a thing about Thanksgiving Day plans. In fact, he had been rather surprised the child had even slept at all that night, considering his excitement for the following day. 

 

By the time afternoon rolls around David, Jim and Spock are clean and dressed and ready to start their holiday celebration. David is charged with an excited energy that Jim finds both confusing and amusing, saying, "It's just Thanksgiving kid, another day at home; except with Thai food." 

David had cast Spock a long, pleading look at that, one of which Spock had ignored studiously. If David was going to give the surprise away, it wouldn't be due to any slips on Spock's part. However, he did notice how much slower the time seemed to pass until Jim had finally trudged towards the coat closet. "Is there anything you two specifically want from the Thai place in town?" He asks them. 

"Oh! Fried rice!" David pipes up from his spot before the fireplace where he's been playing with Snowy with a piece of string. 

"I will consume whatever vegetarian dishes you bring back, James." Spock assures his mate, getting up to close and lock the door behind Jim. He is almost immediately accosted by David, who runs across the living room and stands before him bouncing up and down in place. 

"Are you gonna call Daddy's friends?" He asks, eyes fever bright and cheeks flushed with his efforts. 

Reaching down, Spock calms the child with a hand to his head, forcing him to settle down as he reaches into his back pocket and draws out his communicator. "Yes, yes," he says, hiding his amusement at the child's enthusiasm, "peace David, let me call them." 

After placing a transmission to Dr. McCoy, Spock hears the gruff voice of the doctor pick up a few seconds later, saying, "Well hell, I'd thought you'd never call. We're all sittin' around at the local waterin' hole waitin' on you Spock." 

"James just left for town, it would be best if you all took an alternate route out of town to avoid passing him on the road." 

"What, you didn't tell 'im we were comin'?" Dr. McCoy asks a grin rather evident in his tone of voice. "Not like he won't know somethin' is up once he sees all the rental cars in his yard." The doctor mutters, "Alright, we're on our way Spock." 

"Is that them? Are they coming Mr. Spock?" David asks, squirming with excitement again. 

Pocketing his communicator, Spock bends at the waist to scoop Snowy up off the floor, placing her in her crate near the fireplace so she will be out of the way and not escape out the front door in the chaos that is sure to ensue. It takes some fifteen minutes of waiting, a length of time during which David runs about the house with his toy action figures making phaser sounds with his mouth. Spock eventually persuades him to put his toys away and the child is just coming downstairs when a knock sounds from the front door to the farmhouse.

David freezes, his excitement gone in a second, his hands suddenly clinging to the edge of Spock's pants as he moves to open the door. He tucks himself behind Spock, somewhat hobbling the Vulcan as a smiling Dr. McCoy ducks into the house. "Well I'll be..." The doctor breathes, tilting his head to get a better look at David. "Well hell, he looks just like Jimmy." 

"Of course Doctor, he is after all, Jim's son." Spock replies, his tone flat. Reaching down, Spock smooths his hand down over the crown of David's head, trying to soothe him. 

"Well hey there, pal." Dr. McCoy says, falling into a crouch in the middle of the foyer and holding an inviting hand out to the child. "I'm Leonard McCoy, but you can call me Uncle Bones if you'd like." 

David peeks out from the side of Spock's leg, finally letting himself be shuffled out to stand in front of Spock, leaning his shoulders back against Spock's knee caps and shyly looking his father's friend over. 

"You know what?" The doctor reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out a miniature candy cane wrapped in plastic and holding it out to David, "I got this for ya." 

"Bribing children with candy, Doctor?" Spock asks, arching a brow at his CMO, "You will spoil the child." 

"Hey, what are honorary uncles for Spock?" Dr. McCoy says, grinning when David timidly takes the candy with a tipped glance at Spock for permission. "Why Spock," the doctor's smile turns teasing and clever, "are you David's nanny?" 

David, naturally, chooses this moment to give his input, "No, he's daddy's girlfriend!" 

Before Spock can be subjected to the doctor's ribbing, the southern man's eyes positively gleaming with surprise and revelation; there comes another knock at the door and Spock steps away from David to let the other members of Jim's former bridge crew, his friends, into the house. 

"Hey!" Lieutenant Sulu, grinning from ear to ear, sweeps over the threshold behind a large potted plant grasped firmly in his hands. "I had to bring a house warming gift. Don't worry, this poinsettia doesn't have any pollen spores to give Jim any troubles, I grew it myself!" 

Behind him, Lieutenant Uhura steps into the foyer and squeezes Spock's forearm in greeting, "Did we beat him back?" She asks, her question answered by Dr. McCoy in the background. 

"I don't see 'im!" The Doctor says from the living room. 

Lieutenant Chekov holds up a casserole dish in his hands as he enters the house, "I made borscht, Keptin! Where is de kitchen, sir?" 

"Through the living room, to your left Lieutenant,." Spock says with a puzzled look, nearly missing the final member of their little party slipping in before the door closes. 

Lieutenant Scott, grinning, holds up a bottle of his latest swill, "I almost did-nae make it! I took the last transport out last night!" 

"I brought groceries," Uhura says, half bent to wiggle her snow-dusted boots off her feet, "because what Thanksgiving doesn't have pumpkin pie?" 

"Aye, or whiskey!" Lt. Scott adds, brandishing his sealed bottle and noticing David a moment later, back to cowering behind Spock's legs. "Oi, is that the wee lad?" 

"His name's David, Scotty." The doctor mutters. 

"He looks just like Jim." Uhura says, smiling softly and squatting down to try and coax David out from behind Spock. 

With a glance around at all the new faces, David grins only at Uhura and runs to her, accepting her hug with a shy grin. 

"What a little ham," The doctor says with arched brows, rocking back and forth on his feet with his hands in his pockets. "Has a way with women like his daddy." 

"He's adorable." Uhura says, tickling David to make him giggle and shy away again. 

They all move into the living room at Spock's suggestion that they behave normally, like invited guests. So Jim's and Spock's trusted colleagues and friends take up spots in the living room and on the sofa. Sulu finds Snowy first and asks Spock if he can take her out of her crate, lifting the nervous wild-eyed creature out of her make-shift cage and petting her on his lap as he sits on the floor.

"A kitty-cat?" Dr. McCoy's ears positively perk up at that notion, his wide eyes turning towards Spock, "Well isn't this li'l family just perfect as pie?" 

"So you've been staying here with Jim and David this whole time?" Asks Uhura, seated in one of Jim's armchairs with David poised on the edge of her lap. "Is Jim okay?" 

"James is fine, and, as you all can see why he left Starfleet, there is little need for explanation." Spock says, hanging back and leaning his hip against the back of the sofa, arms crossed over his chest. 

"Aye, there'll be questions Captain," Lt. Scott adds, reaching across to scratch Snowy between her furry ears as she lies in Sulu's lap. 

"Perhaps later, when we do not have to censor our conversation," Spock says with a slight nod towards David. 

"Did you say Jim's gettin' Thai food?" Dr. McCoy asks, turning his squinting gaze to Spock. 

"Indeed." Spock intones. 

"Well, I hope he gets me some of that Pad Thai." The doctor grins. 

There comes the sound of a key in the lock behind them and all heads turn to witness the front door swinging open, Jim ducking in with plastic bags rustling in his hands and using his foot to swing the door shut behind him. He looks up and into the living room, growing impossibly still as he tries to compute in his mind what his eyes are seeing. Straightening, eyes wide, Jim finds Spock amongst all the faces, his expression twisting with confusion. "What's...all this?" 

"Daddy!" David scrambles off Uhura's lap, bounding into the foyer and leaping up to wrap his arms around Jim's neck as his father stoops to set his bags on the floor in shock. "Are you surprised?" He crows, clinging to his father's frame. Jim shifts him to sit against one hip so he can still see the rest of the room. 

"Hi-ya, Jimmy..." Dr. McCoy says from his seat, lifting a limp hand in a wave with his elbow braced on the armrest of his seat. 

"Bones..." Jim breathes, casting his astonished gaze around the room. 

"Hey, Jim," Sulu greets. 

They all greet Jim and their former captain's eyes land on Spock last as he bends to set David down on the floor gently. "Did you...plan all this?" He asks his mate.

"Well, it's not like we could count on a Christmas card, Jim." McCoy gripes from his chair, receiving a slap on the arm from Uhura for his comment. 

"Is Thanksgiving not a time meant to be spent amongst friends and family?" Spock asks Jim.

"Well yes, but I would have gotten more Thai food if you had told me they would be coming." Spock's partner flushes slightly, "I guess this means you have all met David." 

"Thai food, for Thanksgiving? Jim, c'mon," Uhura rolls her eyes, levering herself up from the armchair and walking towards the kitchen. "Scotty, will you fetch the groceries from the car, I'm going to help Chekov in the kitchen." 

With everyone momentarily distracted, Jim turns a glance on Spock, lowering his voice and turning his shoulder towards their guests to murmur, "How long have you been planning this?" 

"Are you displeased?" Spock asks, hearing a slight edge in Jim's voice and shifting on his feet a little. Perhaps...he had been mistaken in believing this to be a good idea. 

"No, no," Jim holds up a hand, dismissing that notion from Spock's mind, "I'm just...shocked, and a little embarrassed." He says, licking his lips slightly. 

"Why?" Spock asks, his brows furrowing in confusion. 

"I don't know, I just-" Jim starts, but doesn't have a chance to finish his thought when Lieutenant Scott bursts back into the house with an arm load of bags, a pie in a transport box balanced atop them he pauses to show Jim. 

"Look at this pie, Kirk! Ain't she a beaut? I'll be tuckin' into this with some-ah this 'ere whipped cream!" Then his is making his way towards the kitchen, sounds of conversation and preparation starting up in the other room. 

"You two, quit yer yammerin' all secretive-like and sit down, will ya?" The doctor admonishes from the sofa, startling Jim out of his intent stare directed at Spock. 

Reluctantly, they take up positions about the room with Jim sitting on the sofa and Spock taking Uhura's vacated armchair. David is talking to Sulu softly about Snowy, listening to the botanist's every word with interest and explaining where he and Spock had found the feline. 

"Davey here tells me you and the hob-goblin are boyfriend and girlfriend now?" Dr. McCoy fishes, an arm stretched out along the back of the sofa behind Jim. He can't miss the stiffening in Jim's shoulders, but rather than truly tease them about their relationship, the doctor simply comments. "Couldn't say I didn't call it. In fact," he raises his voice so the occupants of the kitchen might hear him, "Scotty, you owe me five-hundred credits!" 

"Ay, pipe doon! You'll get 'cher munay!" Lt. Scott says in an annoyed brogue, placating the doctor. 

"Never thought I'd get to collect on that one." Smirking, the doctor turns his southern charm on James, clapping his hand down on his old friend's shoulder. "Please, spare me the details, I don't wanna know." Waving a dismissive hand, he shifts a hand into the front of his blazer pocket, snagging a small flask and unscrewing the top. He offers a sip to Jim, who shakes his head no, before taking a swallow from it himself. "I've had a drink every day since shore leave started, Jim. And let me tell ya, its damn nice." 

"I always said you were an alcoholic Bones, just that you never had any time to indulge in it." Jim says with a crooked smile. 

"Yeah, well, it's that pointy-eared bastard who's drivin' me to drink Jimmy." Dr. McCoy grumbles, re-pocketing his flask. "Goddamn Vulcan doesn't have a single shred of compassion sometimes." 

"Language Bones," Jim reminds his friend softly, the both of them glancing at David engrossed in pictures Sulu is showing him on his communicator. 

"Right, sorry Jimmy. But you've no idea how hard I've got it on that tin can without you there." The doctor complains, casting Spock a dim glower. 

"I only require that you perform your duties adequately and effectively, Doctor." Spock argues, winning a pointed look of disbelief from the doctor. 

"Yeah, duties my foot," Dr. McCoy mutters, "It's like pullin' teeth talkin' to him." 

"Should I leave you two alone to fight it out with fists?" Jim grins, sliding a teasing glance at Spock. 

"Is that how you two settle your arguments then?" Dr. McCoy asks, quickly backpedaling when he sees Jim's expression change to that of an introspective smirk and a sly glance at his mate, "never mind Jim, I don't wanna know how you two settle things 'round here. Jesus Christ..." He ambles to his feet, "where's your bathroom, Jim?" 

In the silence following the doctor's departure, Jim casts his eyes towards Spock, lips turned in amusement, "It's almost like I never left." 

There comes a clatter from the kitchen and Chekov's voice raising over the din, "I can do dat, I can do dat! Russians inwented potatoes!" 

Jim snorts, dissolving into silent chuckles and shaking his head. "I'll need to call a maid in just to clean up the mess they're making." 

 

As the sun sinks below the top of the tree line across the yard, stories about the Enterprise are dredged up and swapped, laugher is heard, and the delicious smells of cooking food pervade the old Kirk farmhouse. Sulu and Chekov have both been shooed from the kitchen so they entertain David instead, taking turns walking around the house with the child upon their shoulders or on their backs, joining in David's games of make-believe. Jim allows Dr. McCoy to whip up a batch of mint juleps and keeps Lieutenant Scott from spiking the egg nog in the fridge. Uhura and Jim end up cooking the majority of the meal, although the hardest part is already done with two sliced turkey breasts left to warm in the oven. 

It isn't long before Jim finds himself with a julep in one hand and an electric beater in the other, puréeing the shit out of a load of mashed potatoes. With David occupied, he fields a few questions about his son he could tell his former crew-members were simply holding back from asking upon arrival. 

"How old is David?" Nyota asks, kneading dough on the counter top across from Jim. 

"Almost six, which is exactly how he likes me to say it," Jim says, sipping his drink and angling the electric mixer in his hand so the beaters scrape the edge of the glass bowl. 

"So...you've only been taking care of him for-?" Nyota begins with Bones picking up the conversation behind her where he's mixing drinks by the stove. 

"Fer about a year'n a half now," Bones finishes, his accent a little thicker with alcohol as a lubricant. 

"Carol never told me about David; it said in her will that I was to be notified about him if anything ever happened to her." Jim explains, setting his drink down and transferring the beaters into the sink, wrapping the cord around the electric hand-mixer for storage. 

"Carol...Marcus?" Uhura blinks, "Admiral Marcus' daughter?" 

"Nun other." Bones pipes up, turning around with a fresh drink in hand. Jim directs a light glare at him, rolling his eyes and turning to find the can opener for the cranberry sauce. 

"Jesus, Jim...you never knew?" Nyota asks her tone softened with a sympathy that Jim shakes off with a shrug of his shoulders. 

"Nope, she didn't think I was father material." 

"Well, she was wrong, wasn't she?" Bones cuts in with a nod, raising his glass in an impromptu toast to Jim. 

"Also...did I hear you and Doctor McCoy talking about you and Spock?" Nyota asks after Bones has finally shuffled out of the kitchen. Her interest is keen and Jim feels her stare boring into the back of his head. 

"Yeah, were you in on the bet too, then?" He grumbles. 

"No, but I wish I had been. I never thought you would get the courage up to actually do something about it." She snorts. 

"What?" Scowling, Jim mushes the cranberries out of their can-like shape into a bowl. "What do you mean, get my courage up?"

"It's not hard to see when someone's mooning, Jim." Uhura chuckles, rolling the dough in her hands into dinner roll shapes and placing them in a greased baking sheet. "I think the only person who didn't see it was Spock." 

"What did I fail to see?" Spock asks, startling both Nyota and Jim. 

"Uh, nothing," Jim mutters, hoping Nyota will drop the subject. He should have known better, however. 

"That Jim's been mooning over you since the time you two spent on the Enterprise together." She says, biting her lip to keep from smiling too brightly at Jim's withering glare. 

"'Mooning'? I am unfamiliar with this term." Spock says, inclining his head towards Jim in confusion with an arched brow demanding explanation. 

"It's nothing Spock." Jim snaps, reaching out to lightly shove Nyota's shoulder, sliding his hand through her flour and leaving a white hand print on the sleeve of her sweater and making her laugh. 

They all sit at Jim's small dining room table, having dragged in a few extra chairs from the garage. Together, they feast on turkey and mashed potatoes slathered in gravy, Uhura's dinner rolls and Scotty's brandied carrots. Chekov ladles out mugs of his Russian beet soup, which David nearly spits out in shock at its taste. Spock, of course, sticks to the vegetarian dishes. They clear the table of food, polishing off any and all leftovers and drinking their cocktails. Jim feels rather content by the time the kitchen is clean and they have all retired to the living room. David puts on a movie, an edited and 'clean' version of 'Planes, Trains, and Automobiles', crawling up into Spock's lap and reclining against the Vulcan's chest comfortably. 

Jim notices after a while that Nyota keeps looking at Spock, more like studying actually, and Jim catches her in the kitchen later when she is making a mug of cider for herself. "Hey, listen..." Jim murmurs, shifting uncomfortably and glancing into the living room. But Spock isn't looking in their direction, however that doesn't mean he isn't listening, "I know you and Spock dated for a little while-." 

"Don't even start Jim," Uhura says, shaking her head, "that was a long time ago, and if I had wanted anything else out of him, I had a whole year in which to ask him out again." She murmurs, catching Jim's mood and keeping her voice soft and pitched low. "Besides...he's different around you." Lifting her mug of cider to her lips, she blows on it before taking a sip. 

"What do you mean?" Jim asks, folding his arms over the kitchen island counter and gazing at her standing opposite to him. 

"Don't act like you can't see it," Uhura murmurs with a small smile, "he's different. More open, more careful around you. It's like he thinks you're going to run off again and leave us no clues." 

Jim drops his eyes to the counter top, pushing his pursed lips out in thought, "If anything, I should be the one worried he's going to run off." 

"Well, you are dating a starship Captain, as strange as that sounds." She rolls her eyes, "but I doubt you need to worry. He looks at that kid like David is his own. It makes me wonder if he'd have looked at me differently too, if I had had a kid." Her teasing smirk is enough to lay Jim's worries to rest on the matter however and he doesn't press her further. 

"You know Jim," she begins just as he is about to head back into the living room, "he did miss you when you left, we all did." 

Sucking a long breath in, Jim lets it out slowly and offers her a nod of his head, dropping his eyes so he won't have to see the sorrow in their dark depths, "I missed you all too, believe it or not." 

She smiles at him, wrapping both her hands around her mug. 

It's nearly nine o'clock when Bones makes the first move to leave, levering himself up and off of the sofa and muttering, "Well, now that I've sobered up a bit, I think I'll be headin' out Jim." 

"Do you have a place to stay?" Jim asks, standing to meet his friend in the foyer. 

"Yeah, I've got a room in Des Moines callin' mah name. I've got to head back out to Georgia and spend the last few days of Joanna's break from school with her. She's twelve now, I've gotta keep my eye on her so the local boys don't get any ideas." He takes a step forward, enveloping Jim in a brief but heart-felt embrace, murmuring, "Don't be a stranger Jim...the both of ya. Write me letters if ya have to." 

"Sure thing, Bones," Jim promises, unlocking and opening the front door for his friend and watching him walk down the porch steps and out into the snowy yard to his rental. He lifts a hand in a final farewell, closing the door as the tail lights of Bones' car disappear down the driveway. 

It isn't long before the rest of his Enterprise family begins to pack up and leave. Chekov gifts the rest of his borscht to Jim as he and Sulu leave, explaining that they have to make it to Sulu's parent's place in time for a second holiday celebration by morning. Uhura and Scotty are the last to leave with Mr. Scott handing his homemade brew over to Jim with a wink and a nudge. "Fer those really cold nights, Kirk." Uhura kisses him on the cheek and gives David a tight hug too, leading a less than sober Scotty out to their car. 

Jim closes the door for the last time that evening, a bittersweet feeling in his heart as he braces his hands on the back of the sofa. David is dozing in the corner of the couch cushions under Spock's occasional glances. "C'mon, let's put him to bed." Jim says with a yawn of his own, lifting David up into his arms and taking to the stairs. Spock follows a short time later to read to David, the two of them draped with David's blankets while Spock's voice fills the room in soft tones. Jim listens to them from his bedroom across the hall, as he changes into more comfortable clothes. 

When Spock turns out the light in David's room, closing the door part way behind him, he pauses on the landing in the stairwell when Jim catches his hand, drawing him to a stop. "I want to thank you, for everything. This was a really great Thanksgiving because of you." 

"David was the one who suggested it be a surprise." Spock murmurs, "Perhaps I should have enlightened you though." 

"No, it's fine. I'd have indulged him too." Smiling, Jim chuckles, "however, you probably should have told Scotty not to bring that terrible swill. He almost climbed up on the coffee table earlier when that Little Debbie commercial came on, you know...with the singing girl?" Snickering, Jim leans up to plant a kiss on his partner's lips, humming in affectionate appreciation and sliding his fingers along Spock's jaw. 

Cradling Jim's face in his hands, Spock bequeaths a second kiss on Jim and the two lean into one another, arms sliding around each others waists. Jim leans his forehead against the curve of Spock's shoulder, eyes closed. Pressing his lips into the supple skin of Spock's throat, he murmurs, "I love you, Spock. Thank you." Lifting his head, Spock rests his forehead against his, their eyes flickering closed. 

"I cherish thee," Spock whispers, melting into another kiss from his mate before following Jim up to the master bedroom, a wicked glance of promise in Jim's eyes making those Vulcan brows arch.


	15. Warm Traditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another snow storm hits Riverside and traps our three boys in the house for days. However, when the weather begins to calm, they set out for a tree and decorate it. Much fluff ensues...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little of my muse left me for this chapter, so I'll be taking a day or two in order to give it some time to return. Also, a thank you to NWKate, who has begun to beta this fic for me. Much thanks and love to you all this cozy holiday season. (Also, I don't own any rights to 'The Night Before Christmas').

The first week of December brings with it one of the worst storms Spock has ever seen, dumping snow on the folks of Riverside and across the whole center of the state and closing schools for many unplanned snow days. It also meant that most local businesses were closing up shop, not wanting to encourage people to go out into the storm to Christmas shop. With James not working and David excused from school due to the weather, the Kirk farmhouse is quickly turned into a warm shelter from the storm outside. Spock can't even see his car any longer it is so draped with snow with drifts forming up the sides and nearly covering the hood. Two days into their purgatory, Jim happens to comment, "Well...at least I stocked up on groceries before this storm blew in." To which Spock replies: 

"Are these kinds of storms common this time of year in Iowa?" 

Laughing, Jim mutters, "Only when there's a Vulcan in town, it seems. Help me hand this up, would you?" 

They brave the storm only long enough to reach the barn and drag a few boxes out of storage. Upon opening them on the living room floor, Jim begins to pull out various decorations, lining them up on the coffee table. There is a strange felt calendar set only for the month of December, a tangle of tiny string lights, a wooden nativity scene that looks hand carved, and a strange little stuffed wooden creature in striped stockings Jim calls an 'elf'. 

"I had the most fun with this as a kid, Spock. Some of my best Christmas memories include this elf. They call it the 'elf on a shelf', but you can put it anywhere you want." Holding the mystical stuffed creature aloft, he hands it to Spock with a grin, leaning around the corner of the wall to check up the stairwell where David has been playing with his toys upstairs for the past half hour. "Quick Spock, before David comes back downstairs, we've got to hide this elf somewhere he'll find it." 

"Why?" Spock inquires, looking down at the toy in his hand. 

"It's just...something we do in this house. Here," Taking the elf from Spock, Jim goes into the kitchen and starts rifling around in the cabinets and pantry. When Spock follows behind, he finds a bag of powdered sugar and a bag of marshmallows sitting out on the counter. 

"The elf is like, supposed to be one of Santa's little helpers or something. But he's turned bad and instead of helping Santa with making the presents for the kids, he's slacking off at the Kirk's place instead. I think I got David the book about the whole thing last year." Jim explains, a mischievous gleam in his eye. "If you want to help, you could find one of David's action figures he's left down here." 

When Spock returns after finding one of David's plastic superhero figures, he finds Jim sprinkling powdered sugar over the kitchen island, having pushed the bar-stools aside for room to work. "We'll make it look like they're having a snowball fight." Jim grins, ripping into the bag of spongy confections., Jim places the marshmallows on one side of his dusted counter top, stacking them into a tiny wall and arranging the elven toy behind it. Scattering some of the miniature marshmallows about the center space, Jim builds another wall and sticks David's action figure behind it. 

"Now what?" Spock asks; confusion still evident in his brown eyes. 

"Now, we wait for him to stumble across our little set up. He'll get a kick out of this." Smirking, Jim pushes the bar-stools back under the lip of the counter, dusting powdered sugar off the front of his shirt. 

Back out in the living room, Jim opens a second box to reveal a jumble of mismatched ornaments and other decorative objects. "We still need to get a tree..." He grumbles with a glance out the front living room window. "There's no telling when the snow is going to let up, though." Grimacing, he sets the boxes aside. 

 

The heavy snow fall eventually calms to light flurries by Sunday morning and Spock awakens to a warm bed for once, lying on his side with one arm pillowed beneath his head and the other resting idly against the arm his lover has draped across his waist. Warm lips press to the back of his neck a moment later, a sleepy James curling closer under the quilts. "I didn't get a call from the tavern last night, so I'm assuming we're still closed today." He grumbles; voice groggy from disuse. 

"The snow has let up." Spock observes, shifting onto his back so he might look over at Jim, whose blue eyes are blinking blearily in the pure white light filtering into the room and reflecting off the snow drifts. 

"Well thank God," Jim mutters, "I was starting to think we would be shoveling our way out in another day or two. We've only got two more rolls of toilet paper left." He snorts.

"Two is not enough?" Spock inquires. 

"Not when you have a five year old boy." Jim chuckles, "though I've heard girls are worse so, there's that at least." Grunting, Jim sits up, only to cast his leg out over Spock's lap to straddle him and brace his hands on his chest. 

Shifting to accommodate Jim's added weight, Spock slides his hands up Jim's legs and arches a brow at his partner. "Comfortable?" He asks his tone a little sarcastic.

"Immensely," Jim smirks, rolling his head back and forth to stretch out the tendons in his neck. "Should we get a tree today?" 

"The snow is still rather deep outside, Jim." 

Jim responds with a shrug, "I can carry David through the worst of it. We can just head towards the line of trees and pick one for free."

"I have never understood the ritual of killing a tree in order to place it on display in one's home for a few weeks." Spock intones. 

"I don't know, Spock, it's a pagan thing I think. People would bring an evergreen branch or tree into their home to signify everlasting life, the return of the harvest after winter, to ward away evil and sickness..." Jim elaborates, motioning through the air with his hands, "every culture had their reasons for it. I think it was originally a German tradition to bring a whole tree into the home, some Queen made it fashionable." He shrugs. 

"There are quite a lot of human traditions that center around superstition and fads, aren't there?" Spock asks. 

Jim chuckles, "we're a faddish people, Spock. We all like to be included in the newest and best thing." 

"Fascinating," Spock murmurs, sliding his hands up to Jim's hips as his partner leans down to give him a kiss. They linger like that for a while, Jim braced on his elbows and knees over Spock on the bed and their lips leisurely exploring one another. When Jim pulls away with a yawn that makes his jaw pop, Spock sits up to thread his hands around and lock them together at the small of Jim's back. 

"C'mon, let’s go wake David up so he can find the elf and we can eat before going out into all that snow." Jim proposes, but his movements are not exactly in tune with his suggestions, for his arms fold around Spock's shoulders and he doesn't seem inclined to move. 

Frowning, Spock says, "I did hear you rise last night, was that what you were doing?" 

A wicked smile curves Jim's lips, clever eyes narrowing, "This one will be a good one, you'll see." Falling into a roll across the bed, Jim stands on the other side of the mattress and finds his pants, discarded on the floor. 

"I hope it is not another mess of powdered sugar and confection," Spock sighs, casting the blankets back with an instinctual shiver. 

It takes less than five minutes for David to find the peculiar elf; this time he isn't hard to miss. Downstairs, toilet paper is everywhere. It hangs from picture frames, is draped over the sofa and chairs, loops around light fixtures and crisscrosses over the floor and rugs; all without a single break and at the end of the long trail of toilet tissue is the elf stuffed in the empty paper roll. 

"Dad! He TP'd our house!" David laughs, finding the elf and holding it up for his father to see. 

"He did!" Jim says, pretending to sound exasperated and heaving a long sigh, shooting a sly look at Spock in the entryway to the living room. "What a naughty elf." He smirks, reaching up to brush a thumb against one pointed tip of Spock's ears, making Spock purse his lips to avoid a slight smile at Jim's ridiculous innuendo.

Instead, Spock says, "Is this why we only have two rolls of toilet tissue left, James?" 

"Hey, it wasn't me..." Jim shrugs, stooping to pick up a section of toilet paper and dragging it off the back of the sofa, "it was the elf." He grins. 

David selects a little sewn felt toy from a pouch at the bottom of the hanging advent calendar, sticking it to a Velcro spot in Santa's large bag of toys and effectively marking off the sixth of December. They eat bowls of cereal and slices of toast near the fire for warmth, all clustered around the coffee table with Jim still finding pieces of torn bath tissue stuffed in the sofa or stuck in the rug. "I should probably just vacuum..." He grumbles, casting an amused look at Spock. 

After completing warm showers and David's short bath, the three of them slip into their winter clothes, David excited to get out of the house after four days of being cooped up inside. "We're gonna get a big tree, right Daddy?" He asks, bouncing a little too energetically and making it difficult for Jim to get his boots on him. 

"As long as we can carry it back," Jim grunts, "And it can't be taller than six feet or it won't fit in the living room, buddy." 

Outside, Spock wraps his scarf around the lower half of his face for warmth, his hat pulled firmly down over his ears and his gloves snugly fitted onto his hands, which he tucks into his coat pockets. Tiny flakes of snow still flit around the yard and David leaps off the first porch step and into the snow, disappearing all for the tiny pom-pom on the top of his knit cap. 

"David!" Jim shouts, half way between a laugh and concern as he wades down into the snow and hoists his child up out of the fluffy mound. David comes up spitting, blinking flakes off his lashes and shaking his head. Jim wipes his son's face with the back of his mitten; chuckling. "It's too deep for you to be doing that, son." Brushing as much snow as he can off David, he shifts the child over to rest braced against his hip before the three of them set out across the yard towards the back fence.

They reach the tree-line after a hard trek; the snow deep even for Spock, reaching his knees and a little higher in some places. David points at a shrub sporting a cap of snow some inches thick and says, "That one!" 

"David, that's a blackberry bush...we're looking for a tree, something with needles." Jim says, setting his son down in the shallower snow at the edge of the tree line. They enter under the canopy of tree limbs, ducking under low boughs and skirting thick underbrush. 

"You have the saw I left on the porch, right?" Jim asks with a backward glance at Spock, "because I'd feel pretty stupid if we got all the way out here without it." 

"I have the saw, James." Spock assures him as David points at another tree. 

"That one is too small, David. We don't want a Charlie Brown tree," Jim chuckles, "we can't hang ornaments on one that small." 

Eventually, after trudging deep into the shelter of the surrounding wooded area, Spock mentions the possibility of topping one of the taller trees. They select one and Spock, being the tallest, begins to saw at the trunk with his hand wrapped tightly around it from below. Jim holds David back and out of the way and Spock lets the tree tumble to the forest floor, spattering them all in wet snow shaken from its limbs. 

"Mr. Spock, it's perfect!" David crows. 

Taking his son in one arm and the saw in the other, Jim starts their trek back to the farm house, leaving the tree to Spock. With his hand stuck in the center of the tree trunk, Spock hoists it up, carrying it back mostly elevated above the snow drifts. They shake it out and thump it on the porch for good measure, dislodging dead leaves and melting snow from it before dragging it into the house. 

"Let me put a sheet down and find the tree stand. I could swear I saw it in a closet somewhere upstairs." Setting David down, Jim leaves Spock holding the tree over the rug in the foyer. 

It takes some doing and both Spock and Jim have bits of sap clinging to their fingers by the time they get the tree dry and in its stand in the living room. Jim puts a red and green skirt around the bottom and uses the vacuum to suck up the scattered needles throughout the foyer while David tries to untangle the string of lights while sitting on the sofa. Spock has just helped him succeed in straightening out the lights across the floor by the time Jim returns, having detoured into the kitchen. He holds out a mug to David, and then passes a second mug to Spock. 

"What is this?" Spock asks, sitting back on his heels with the warm flames at his back. The beverage smells richly sweet and has a curved peppermint stick floating in it off the edge of the mug. 

"Hot cocoa," Jim replies, setting his mug behind Spock on the mantle and turning to survey the tree. 

Spock casts a suspicious eye on his lover, "I had thought you were familiar with the effects I experience upon consuming cocoa." 

"Don't worry," Jim says wryly, lowering his voice and talking out of the corner of his mouth as he stoops to pick up the tail end of string lights to plug them into a power strip in the wall, "I put a sniff of Scotty's brew in mine." 

Arching a brow over the rim of his mug, Spock takes an obliging sip of his hot beverage, licking the cloyingly sweet flavor off his lips and setting the mug aside to help with the decorating. The longer it takes them to decorate the tree, the more flushed Jim's cheeks seem to get and Spock checks his mug to find his mate has consumed almost half of his drink. David is also engrossed in his cocoa, both tiny hands wrapped around his smaller mug and a ring of chocolate residue clinging to the outside of his mouth. He hands his father ornaments one at a time, telling Jim where to place each one with a pointing finger. 

"When I was David's age," Jim begins while adjusting a few ornaments on their tree limbs, "it was a tradition to hide a pickle ornament in the tree somewhere and whoever found it got an extra special gift that year." He shows Spock an aluminum ornament made to look like a pickled cucumber, "No one can look, so you all have to turn around while I hide the pickle." He snorts, "Christ that sounds bad, I'm never saying that again." 

Spock takes David's empty mug from his hands, helping the child off the sofa, "Come David, let's leave your father to his ridiculous tradition and wash your face." He offers, taking David into the kitchen and running a towel under the tap to wipe the smears of chocolate off the child's mouth and chin. 

"Guess what, Mr. Spock." David brightens, "I'm gonna be Joseph for Christmas." 

Spock quirks a curious brow, "Who, might I ask, is Joseph?" 

"He's um, ...he's uh," David laces his fingers together, bracing them atop his head, "Jesus' daddy." 

Studying David, Spock frowns, "Why are you going to be Joseph for Christmas, David?" 

"Because I'm gonna be in a play." David beams. 

"Yeah, and I've got to put a costume together for him." Jim mutters from the entrance of the kitchen, "I've no idea how to sew, either. I was thinking I could get one of the other mothers to do it, hope that they'd take pity on me as a single parent." He snorts. 

"Will you come to see the play, Mr. Spock?" David asks, hope shining in blue eyes. 

"If you wish me to, then yes." Spock replies, rinsing off the dish towel in the sink and setting it aside to launder later. 

"I may be able to put a suitable outfit together for David to wear." Spock offers. 

"You're kidding." Jim voices in disbelief. 

"I did sew your face back together." Spock points out, noticing for the first time that his speech patterns are a little erratic. 

Jim laughs, "Not my face, just my cheek and temple Spock, Jesus..." Grinning, Jim opens the fridge to scope out lunch options. 

"Did you hear what Bones told me before he left?" Jim asks over their afternoon meal, David munching on his apples and leaving the skins on his plate. "He told me not to let you meld with me again," he frowns, shaking his head, "that it would mess my head up." 

"Dr. McCoy is not the most knowledgeable about Vulcan ...," he breaks off, at a loss for the word he had been meaning to say.

Jim stares at him, lips curving into a wide smile, "Vulcan...what, Spock?" He laughs, teasing his partner. 

"Vulcan...biology," Spock nods deeply, almost sage-like.

"That's the word." Jim chuckles, "I think that cocoa is getting to you, Mr. Spock." 

"Non-sense." Spock answers immediately, even though his eyelids do feel heavy and he blinks slowly, dropping his eyes towards his plate. 

"You're swaying, Mr. Spock." Jim says with a grin, reaching out to clamp a hand down over Spock's shoulder to steady him. "Maybe I should cut you off, doesn't seem you can hold your...eh, chocolate." He says with a small laugh at his lover's expense. 

"Hmm,." Spock grunts, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back in his seat stubbornly. 

 

With the light fading outside, Jim turns on the lights on the Christmas tree after dinner, having put on a movie to entertain a bored David. Spock remembers bits and pieces of the movie, but shamefully admits that he must have fallen asleep through most of it, his head tipped back against the edge of the couch. 

Turning out all the other lights in the house, Jim drags quilts downstairs to arrange on the floor in front of the tree, dropping pillows in a semi-circle near the tree's ornament-laden boughs. "Sam and I used to sleep out here the closer it got to Christmas." He says in a quiet voice, pushing the coffee table out of the way so Spock can stretch his legs out nearest to the fire. "The lights, the smell of evergreen..." Jim grunts as he sits down in the spot between David and Spock, reclining onto his back so he can look up through the lit branches of their tree. "It all brings back memories for me. Some of the better ones, actually."

"My mother's family would celebrate Christmas," Spock mentions, leaning back on his elbows next to Jim and crossing his feet at his outstretched ankles, "on occasion they would send gifts and we would get them months later on Vulcan." Jim's eyes are firmly trained on him at this point; studying him. 

"I thought you didn't celebrate Christmas as a kid." Jim asks softly. 

"We did not. Eventually my father asked them to stop as he believed the gifts were unnecessary." 

"It sounds like they were just being nice." Jim opines. 

"I barely knew my mother's side of the family, we rarely visited them. I used to wonder if that was by design." Jim's hand slides across the distance between them to rest on Spock's leg, a measure of his sympathy echoing through his touch. 

"Do you think your father didn't get along with your mother's family?" Jim asks softly, notably careful in his questioning. 

"No," Spock inclines his head slightly, "I believe it was more to do with the fact that he did not wish them to influence me too deeply." 

"He didn't want you to be around humans too much?" Jim snorts, "well, he didn't exactly get what he wanted." 

"No he did not, for when I was accepted into the Vulcan Science Academy; rather than attend, I declined." Spock can still remember their stunned faces, an illogical sliver of satisfaction warming the pits of his stomach, a reaction he still cannot control. 

"Why?" Jim wants to know, "wasn't that considered a rather prestigious school?" 

"Indeed," Spock concurs; and whether it's the effect of the cocoa still in his system or the ease with which he can converse with Jim, Spock continues on in a somewhat smug tone, "I insulted them with my refusal because they insulted my mother." 

Jim grins, "You?" He asks, voice rising in disbelief, "insulted a board of stuffy Vulcans? Weren't you raised to respect your elders or something?" He laughs. 

"I give respect where respect is due." Spock sniffs, amusement shining brightly in his brown eyes. Focused on their conversation, neither of them had noticed David slip away. The child returns to the living room with a book in hand, which he holds out to Spock with a pleading look. 

"Will you read to me, Spock?" David asks plaintively. 

Taking the book, Spock scans the cover, Jim reading it aloud over his shoulder, "'The Night Before Christmas'? You picked a perfect one, David." 

Opening the cover, Spock sits up to read with David crowding up against him, a quilt wrapped snugly around him and his head leaning against Spock's arm so he might look at every page with its pictures. Snowy mewls from the edge of their makeshift bed, scrambling over Jim's legs under the quilts to glean some attention. "'Twas the night before Christmas," Spock begins, deep voice resonating, "'when all through the house not a creature was stirring,'" Spock shifts, sliding his arm about David more comfortably, "'not even a mouse'."


	16. We See With Open Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Spock have a bit of a tiff over making David's costume for the Christmas play, but all gets ironed out eventually. David has a sudden interest in ninjas and Jim gets his first taste at what it means to love a Vulcan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter gets really introspective at the end, full of trepidation and tight-rope-walking conversations. Join me on the highs and lows folks! We are whittling down the chapters now with only a handful remaining. It's been a wild journey, and I'm really glad you all have stuck around for it. 
> 
> Thought I would post another reminder that I absolutely love any and all fanart and would be so extremely happy if someone felt inspired to draw any scenes from this fic. If you have something you would like to share, you can do so privately through my email at madkatter1000@gmail.com, or I can post a link to a public forum where you can share it with everyone. Thank you so much, my darlings. =] You're so inspiring!

"I don't believe the color truly matters, James. Does it?" Spock's slightly bewildered tone cuts through Jim's deliberations one afternoon in the middle of a fabric and crafts shop, causing him to look up with an annoyed expression at his partner. 

"I don't fuckin' know," Jim hisses, staring back down at the color swatches in his hands and sliding them down his face in frustration. He and Spock had arrived at the local craft store some thirty minutes ago and were _still_ conflicted about what to buy. That is to say that Jim was still conflicted; Spock seemed nonplussed by the whole experience. 

"The note that was sent home was so vague. It didn't mention any specific patterns or styles for the different characters, nor specific colors. I mean, I can imagine Mrs. Andrews doesn't want the kids to show in gaudy costumes, but who knows." Jim shrugs, defeated. He tosses the fabric squares in his hands back onto the table before them. They had started out with a binder full of fabric swatches and now that Jim had torn through over half of them, there were handfuls sitting out in disorganized piles. Jim didn't envy the employee who would be cleaning up after them, but the thought wasn't enough to trigger a more civilized part of him that knew should put all the swatches back. 

"Perhaps," Spock reaches down and picks up a tan colored square of linen, "it would be most logical to select shades of desert neutral colors, seeing how the Christian story about the baby called Jesus takes place in a desert climate." 

Jim blinks, "you read the program didn't you?" 

"Of course," Spock seems mildly affronted, as if Jim could ever think he wouldn't read the Christmas play's program. 

"Yeah, okay." Pointing, Jim indicates a darker brown swatch of fabric, handing it to Spock with a sigh. "Am I thinking too hard about all this? I feel like I might be thinking too hard about it..." 

"You are placing unnecessary stress on yourself, Jim." Spock concedes with a tilt of his head, dropping his eyes to regard their choices. They hand their picks over to an employee who had wandered over a half hour ago to help them, only to leave in a hurry when she realized how hopeless they really were. 

"Let’s just...buy our crap and get out of here." Jim huffs folding his arms across his chest and scratching at his cheek. "I've got to pick David up in an hour and I hope we can at least manage to cobble this thing together before we have to leave for the concert."

"We should not have left this for the last possible minute." Spock says with a pointed glance at Jim. 

"Yeah, I know alright? I didn't check David's backpack as well as I should have, the parent's note got shoved down into the very bottom. What do you want me to do about it," Jim shrugs, "open a vein in penance?" 

Spock arches a brow at him, "Do not be over-dramatic James, you are simply in distress. We are here now, let us get what we need and leave." 

They collect their yards of newly cut fabric from the woman helping them and Jim can't miss her keen glance, muttering a petulant comment under his breath, "Why don't you take a picture, it'd last longer." Spock is smart enough not to say anything, though Jim knows he heard him. 

In addition to the fabric, they also buy a simple sewing pattern to match David's size, a black cotton headband, some loose gold braiding, a thread and needle kit, and a tan cotton bathrobe in a child's size. "We'll put his beard from Halloween on him, how's that sound?" Jim asks his companion as they're crossing the parking lot. 

"Adequate." Spock replies simply. 

Jim casts Spock a long, searching look and when they get into his car, he refrains from starting the engine and turns to Spock in the passenger seat. "Look, I'm sorry." He sighs softly, sliding a hand over his face and turning sore eyes out the windshield. "I know I haven't been the best of company lately. Between my shifts at the tavern and buying and wrapping David's Christmas presents, this whole thing just sort of slipped my mind and now we're sitting in a dumb parking lot with a bag of odd things. I just-" his shoulders slip downward, losing a little of their earlier tension, "have a lot on my mind right now, I guess. I know that's no excuse, I shouldn't have snapped at you back there." 

"Or at the woman," Spock adds, to which Jim agrees with a nod.

"Or the woman..." He sighs, "I just don't want to start a fight over something stupid like this, you know?" 

"Are we quarreling?" Spock inquires while studying Jim's face. 

"Oh, uh," Jim's eyes narrow, "are we not?" 

Spock inclines his head, brown eyes shifting away as he thinks before speaking, "I understand your current emotional state, though I do not understand why some of the smallest things have become such great issues. I had said I would create David's costume. I could have performed this task without your added participation, leaving you with some much needed free time this afternoon." 

"But what if you had had questions?" Jim frowns. 

"I could have called." Spock intones, brows raised as he drives home his logical point. 

Sliding forward to rest his forehead on the steering wheel, Jim groans, "I'm sorry, Spock." 

"Apology accepted," Spock replies, "now let us return to the house before we waste any more of our time."

"Yeah, sorry." Jim shakes his head stiffly, throwing off some of the tension. He lets himself realize, not for the first time, that Spock is the far more practical half of their pairing. Perhaps he should endeavor to learn how to let Spock take control of a few things as well. Jim can't do it all, he certainly doesn't want to, and while Spock is here he hopes he can become a little better at showing his trust towards his partner. In a way, it's a relief knowing he has a safety net for now, but he knows what is holding him back from asking Spock to help him with more things about the house; the specter of Spock's impending departure. If Jim lets himself lean on Spock too heavily now, how will he manage when it comes time for the Vulcan to return to exploring the galaxy? The thought leaves an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He cannot let himself grow too dependent on Spock, not now. 

"Jim?" Spock's voice shatters Jim's concentration and he realizes that they are stopped outside the house, the car powered down. It couldn't have been the first time Spock had called upon him, because the Vulcan is standing outside the vehicle with his hand on the door, leaning in and giving him a quizzical stare.

"Sorry, yeah...I'm coming." Jim murmurs, telling himself to get a damn grip as he climbs out of the car and into the snowy yard. He had spent some hours shoveling it earlier that week, but more snow had come the night after that and Jim had given up the game. 

 

"Does it fit?" Jim asks Spock some time later, watching him squat before David in their dining room with pins pinched between his lips and his fingers adjusting and fussing over the seams at the shoulders and sides of David's shepherd costume. 

"Daddy, my arms are tired..." David complains, his arms held out from his sides and beginning to quiver after some minutes of Spock's adjustments. 

"Put them down, son." Jim instructs, handing Spock the measuring tape so the Vulcan can wrap it around David's waist for a third time. 

"Were you, perhaps, inhaling deeply the last time I measured you David?" Spock asks, arching a brow at the child. 

David shakes his head in exaggerated movements, "Nope." He pinches his lips together and blows out a breath, causing the fringe of hair across his brow to flutter. 

"Alright, one last time then," Spock murmurs, extricating Jim's son out of the costume a final time before inverting it and tearing out the stitches deemed unacceptable. 

Jim checks the time with a grimace, "We've got to head out in twenty minutes." He grumbles. 

"Put his head dress on." Spock says without looking up from his work, bent forward over his stitching as he sits in one of Jim's armchairs. 

They somehow manage to get David into costume after only a few additional minutes, though Jim notices some of the seams look stretched to capacity around David. "Did we buy a pattern too small for him?" 

"I do not know." Spock says with a defeated shake of his head, surveying his handiwork with a bland expression, his arms folded over his chest. 

"Well, good enough I guess." Jim has David hold the corners of his headdress, keeping it positioned on his head tightly until Jim can secure it in place with the headband. "Easiest hat I've ever made." Jim laughs, dropping onto one knee to tie a bit of twine around his son's waist. The gold braiding that Spock had stitched around the edges of the plain bathrobe looks crooked in places, but who is going to be judging these kids' costumes anyway? "Jesus, they're five...what are they even going to do through the whole thing?" 

"I'm Joseph," David says. 

"What's that mean then, what do you have to do?" Jim asks. 

"Um...be Mary's husband." David nods, giving Jim a determined tip of his head. 

 

The Riverside Elementary School's Christmas concert marks the beginning of winter vacation and Jim is at least glad he won't have to worry about taking David to school and picking him up for the next two and a half weeks. Although, two and a half weeks seems like a very long time and he knows he'll have to start coming up with entertaining diversions for his son before the end of vacation, especially once Spock returns to San Francisco. 

On their way to the school, Jim slaps the steering wheel with a sudden burst of memory, "I forgot about his stick!" He scowls. 

"He requires a stick?" Spock asks, casting a dubious look at David in the back seat. 

"Every shepherd has a stick." Jim explains. 

"And what would he do with this stick?" Spock inquires dryly, returning Jim's calculating stare. 

"Probably hit something with it." He supplies, to which David pipes up from the back seat: 

"Yeah!" 

"Precisely." Spock says with the tiniest of sighs. 

Smirking, Jim concedes his lover's point, "glad I forgot the stick then."

The school auditorium is small and doubles as the gym, and Jim has some memory of it from his own school days, casting his eyes about the old style wood paneling and glazed polished floors. The basketball hoops have been raised, and two pop-up style speakers are standing on props like sentinels towards the front of the stage. Bleachers line the area in front of the stage and Jim can remember standing on those for soccer photos as a kid; a small shudder of revulsion at the old memory coursing through him. No one really likes to remember their dorky and awkward kid moments. Jim had always been considered the class clown when he had been younger and some of the embarrassing things he had done for attention still brought a blush to his cheeks. 

After being sure David had reached the small crowd of kids his age and garnered the attention of Mrs. Andrews, Jim motions Spock towards the numerous rows of chairs meant for parents and family. They find seats near the front and Jim sits, opening his paper program. "Oh jeez, all the grades have a thing." He grumbles. 

"It would seem the third graders are going to play a song on Christmas bells." Spock reads along, lifting his head and pointing out the velvet cushioned tables set off to the side of the stage, gleaming gold hand-bells of all sizes arranged atop them. 

"What the hell are hand-bells?" Jim wonders. "Is it going to be like that Hershey's kiss commercial?" 

The lights flicker and dim, effectively acting as a cue to all in attendance that the show is about to start. Jim shifts to dig about in his pockets, finding his communicator and laying it out on his knee. "I need a picture," Jim grins, "of David in his costume up there." 

The two of them sit through a number of performances including a choral performance by some of the older grades; a truly awful band performance from the middle grades, and a small piano piece played by a fifth grader. The hand-bells are interesting and the third graders aren't half bad, so Jim doesn't cringe when they play four songs instead of two. When the curtains across the stage draw back, Jim swipes his thumb across the screen of his comm., hiding its glow against the front of his shirt and watching as stage lights illuminate the kindergartners. 

"There he is," Jim grins, nodding towards the center of the stage. Their teacher takes up a microphone and begins to speak, narrating the story of baby Jesus' birth and the Christmas story, while the children on stage hold their places kneeling in scattered hay around a wooden structure built to look like the open face to a barn. A little wooden manger sits front and center between David and the little girl playing the mother Mary and Jim quietly sits forward in his chair and raises his communicator, snapping a picture of David in his costume. 

The story is a little long and after a while, Jim can tell David's patience is beginning to wane, his boredom taking hold. "It looks like...David has inherited my short attention span." Jim mutters ruefully. Both he and Spock are powerless to do anything but watch as David begins to entertain himself. 

Looking around somewhat surreptitiously, David plays idly with the folds his costume. He shuffles his feet, rocks back and forth on them, even yawns. Jim bites his lip to keep from chuckling, watching his five year old at play. With the teacher's back towards her kids, she can't see that David has decided to take some liberties with the script. Rather than Joseph the shepherd, David has transformed himself rather cleverly into David the ninja. He tugs the headband down his head further, at first seeming bored and fidgety until he gets the clever idea to leave it wrapped around his mouth and nose, leaving just his eyes peeking out from beneath the edge of his cloth head-dress. Jim passes a hand over his eyes, turning his face into Spock's shoulder when he can't help but laugh. 

David doesn't make a sound; rather he crouches and begins to karate chop the side of the manger, moving his small arms in staccato bursts of child-like speed and energy. Other teachers have noticed by this point and Jim isn't the only one amused. The audience is shifting, rustling their paper programs and chuckling. A few flashes from cameras go off and Jim takes another photo for himself as well, just as David gets into a bit of a shushing match with the little girl playing Mary. She seems to almost scold him, pointing her finger at him and shaking her head. David's only reply is to karate chop the fake baby Jesus in her arms, causing her to wrest it away from him and out of harm’s way. 

Jim is sweating by the end of the show, having spent over half the play silently laughing into his fist and wiping at his eyes tearing up in amusement. Spock doesn't laugh, but one corner of his mouth does tick up, brown eyes sparkling and yet properly disapproving somehow. When the program finally draws to a close and everyone rises to gather their children and leave, Jim has to ask his son, "What exactly where you doing up there, kid?" He chuckles. 

"I was a ninja!" David says excitedly. 

"I could tell, but what made you attack the plastic sheep?" 

"They were bad sheep." David says simply by way of explanation, his mind made up of pure black and white scenarios. The sheep were bad, so he attacked the sheep. 

"And the baby Jesus?" Jim snorts, lifting David up and onto his shoulders on their way out into the blessed cool night. 

"I never liked 'im anyway." David mutters dismissively. 

Jim casts a smirking glance at Spock as they reach the car, "I don't think we'll have to worry about any Bible thumping from this one." He says out the corner of his mouth, lowering David into his car seat and buckling him in. 

"Indeed." Spock says making his own inquiry of Jim once they've pulled out onto the main road on their way home, "Are you not relieved that we did not stop to acquire a stick for him?" 

Jim laughs, "Yeah. That could have been a disaster." 

 

That evening after putting David to bed and hanging his Joseph the Shepard turned ninja costume on the back of his door, Jim pours both himself and Spock three fingers of whiskey. The Vulcan takes the proffered glass with a raised brow but does not refuse it when Jim comes to sit on the sofa across from him. Folding his legs on the sofa cushions, Jim perches parallel to the length of the piece of furniture, loosely holding his glass of spirits in his lap. 

"Thank you." Jim murmurs, "For making David's costume, that is." He peers down into the amber liquid in his glass, swirling it lazily and letting out a breathy chuckle, "All I seem to be doing lately is thanking you, actually." 

"Your gratitude is well received," Spock informs him kindly, shifting at the hip in order to place Jim more easily in his line of sight. He drapes an arm along the back of the sofa, crossing one leg before the other and bringing his glass to his lips for an idle sip of the burning liquor. "Though I do believe I would perform just about any task you asked of me. After all, it was my duty for a year and twelve-days." 

Jim snorts, "You're under no such orders now, Spock." 

"I am aware," Spock inclines his head, a gentle and graceful nod. "However, I believe my stating such a promise could be beneficial to you." 

"You're not my errand boy, Spock." Jim says with grimace, taking a sip of whiskey and relishing its sting, hissing a breath out through closed teeth.

"I much prefer the term 'teammate' or 'partner' instead." Spock objects softly, "who is to say we cannot aide one another as we did while working together on the Enterprise?" 

Jim catches on a little too late as to the direction of this conversation, pausing with his glass half raised towards his parted lips, "Is this about my outburst this afternoon?" 

"Not entirely," Spock denies, angling backward in order to set his glass down on the end table barely touched, "though I cannot help but notice your reluctance in asking for my aide." 

"You're a guest here Spock, I was raised better than to give my visitors chores." Jim smirks, but his posturing seems to fade under the patient gaze of his lover. "I don't ask because I can handle most of it myself." 

"When I asked you to consider the benefits of an intimate relationship with me, I think you may have only been considering the more," Spock glances away towards the hearth, regarding the flickering flames as he forces the words out, "physical aspects." 

Jim bites his lower lip before tossing back the rest of his whiskey and regards the empty glass. "Not true." He argues, swallowing past the dryness in his throat brought on by the liquor and blinking the sting out of his eyes, "I thought about how it would affect David." 

"Of course." Spock concedes, "However, did you not consider that I might wish to embark on a truly supportive relationship? I only know a little about your struggles Jim, when I see a problem for either you or David, I intend to solve it." 

"You can't solve all our problems Spock," Jim sighs, "a few, yes. Thanks for that; but there's a problem you can't fix and you and I both know it. I don't ask because I...I can't." Jim swallows. 

"What do you fear?" Spock asks slowly, as if probing into Jim's intense feelings is a right he may have only just gained. 

Jim's chin lifts, then falters and tips away, "Because if I let you get that close, it's only going to make it harder for me when you go." There, he has said it, it is out in the open and he can't take it back now. He wishes he could, but he won't be a coward about this. 

Spock falls silent, so quiet that Jim has to look over at him to be certain he has not gotten up and left. But the Vulcan still remains seated a mere foot away from Jim and yet seemingly across a vast cavern if Jim were to wax poetic about it. "This has gotten a little...strained, hasn't it?" Jim asks, afraid that Spock might agree. 

"Why do you say that?" Spock asks, a small crease of confusion appearing between his up-swept brows. Jim wishes he could kiss it away. 

"This doesn't feel...awkward for you?" 

"Vulcans do not feel awkwardness or embarrassment," Spock replies. 

Jim scoffs, "Right, because you've never flushed green up to your ears."

"You are deflecting the subject matter." Spock warns and Jim lets out a small sound of frustration, getting up to pace the room. 

He passes twice before the hearth before he speaks again, his hands crammed into the back pockets of his jeans. "I want to do this Spock, I really do." He says turning to brace his hands against the mantelpiece, bowing his head between sagging shoulders with his arms stretched out to their full length. "But a part of me can't help but hold back. Its human nature to feel pain when we've been hurt; and I've been burned one too many times Spock." 

There comes the soft sound of fabric rustling against fabric and the muted footsteps of his Vulcan lover, approaching him cautiously as if Jim might lash out like a wild thing. Jim feels a little sorry for giving that impression, but he cannot say his partner isn't right to take the gentle approach. A warm, solid hand sweeps his arm aside, presses at his shoulder until Jim turns and faces what he has been avoiding. Spock's voice, deep and so very intuitive, resonates to the soul as he says, "I will ask you again James, what is it you fear?" 

The knot in Jim's chest pulls tight, stealing the breath from his lungs, "It's the separation, Spock." He whispers, blue eyes open wide, as if seeing imagined scenarios dancing like memories before him. "The not knowing. I'm scared," he winces at the admission, "that when you come back," Jim's jaw clicks shut and he hisses through clenched teeth, "and you will come back..." he lets out a breath, "that whatever this is between us?" Jim motions a hand forward in the space between them, stirring up this electric shock of chemistry brewing in them like a lightning storm, "won't be the same after three years." 

Spock seems to deliberate, considering Jim's hardship. "You believe that this commitment and desire towards one another could fade?" 

"Couldn't it?" Jim asks, "That's what they've always said anyway, right? That love fades over time?" 

The word 'love', when he speaks it, seems to strengthen something in Spock's expression. Rather than withdraw from the impassioned word, Spock considers it, almost picks it apart in that beautiful brain and Jim can practically see it. "I know it will not." Spock says finally, voice steely in resolve. 

"How can you know, Spock? Nothing is certain in this world." Jim spreads his arms out wide, a gesture of hopelessness. 

"This is how I know," Spock murmurs, raising a hand towards Jim's face. He hesitates before touching him however, still needing to ask, "If you would permit me?" 

Jim, unsure of what this might prove, slowly nods. 

Spock's fingertips are cool, but his palms are warm as they first move to cradle Jim's face before long fingers rearrange to touch the meld points across his cheeks and forehead. Jim's hands automatically rise to curl around Spock's wrists, grounding himself. Spock's voice carries like a drum, murmuring, "My mind to your mind," he continues briefly, "my thoughts to your thoughts." 

There comes a familiar push, a pressure throughout Jim's skull he has come to associate with a mind-meld. Spock is easily recognized, though Jim cannot begin to explain how or why, only that it is a sort of impression that flits across his mind. Spock doesn't push him too hard though, he doesn't even cause Jim to fall immobile. Rather, he opens himself unto Jim. What had once been a barrier, a carefully constructed screen of privacy that Jim didn't have the skills or knowledge to probe behind; fades now in the presence of their joined minds. Without its hindrance comes feeling, comes vivid memory. Spock's mind is so much more vibrant than Jim could ever describe, and Jim sees the truth in the myth that Vulcan's feel so much more deeply than humans could ever imagine. 

Spock's feelings are profound in Jim's mind; impressions of love and caring, intense interest and pain. Their earlier conversation had brought Spock some distress, and one gentle inquiry from his whispered lips brings him the answer; Spock had been afraid that Jim would ask to end their relationship rather than salvage it. _'Oh Spock,'_ Jim thinks to himself, to his lover, _'I could never do that, not now or ever.'_

_'I had thought that perhaps you were regretting your decision.'_ Spock replies, his mental voice tinged with a tenderness Jim has never heard from him before. 

_'No.'_ Jim denies, _'I just...don't know what this proves?'_

"Open your eyes Jim." Spock's voice is almost jarring in its clarity outside of the meld and Jim timidly cracks his blue eyes open, blinking away tears he hadn't felt appear until now. "We are linked," Spock murmurs, "We have been since I melded with you on the Enterprise." 

"How?" Jim blinks in confusion, searching Spock's face in the fire light. 

"My close proximity to you only strengthened the draw; your mind has become more familiar to me than any other. I could find you anywhere." Spock's hands slide from Jim's face, turning instead to cradle the back of his head. "The more time I have spent with you here, the more clear it has become to me. There can be no other, not as long as you still exist in my world." 

Perhaps Jim had needed more than a simple declaration of intent, perhaps it was the giddiness left over from the meld and from feeling the deep river of Spock's emotions directed toward him; but Jim feels a sudden peace. "I'm still terrified." Jim murmurs, "terrified that you won't come back, that something might happen to you." 

"A risk I must take," Spock allows, sliding his hands down over Jim's shoulders and squeezing them, knowing where to press in order to bring Jim a measure of relaxation. "I will not make a promise we both know I may not be able to keep. But you can trust in this." Spock tips his head forward, bringing their foreheads together in an effort to draw comfort from his mate. The link flares between them, a live and open thing; a tether so tenuously wrought over time that it is unique and genuine. "I cannot say if you will know my thoughts, I will surely be too far away for us to speak like this. But I will send you message cubes when I can, you and David both." 

Sliding his arms around Spock's waist, Jim tips his head to slide his cheek across Spock's, holding onto the faint skin-to-skin contact, his heart surging at this new notion of connection to a being otherwise constructed of enigmas. "Well... I can say I've gone on less before." He says with a weary chuckle. 

"Know that I will do my best." Spock implores him softly, gazing into the flames over Jim's shoulder. 

"Nothing less from my Vulcan," Jim murmurs, drawing back to press a kiss with tender lips to Spock's mouth, reveling in the echoed sensation across their fading connection. "Come on..." Jim says, training promising blue eyes on the Vulcan's visage, "let’s go to bed."


	17. Christmas Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we celebrate Christmas Eve with our boys, including one very excited David. The Christmas cheer gets to them all as the hours count down to Santa's arrival and the following morning brings sentiment and thankfulness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've finally made it to Christmas! This is my favorite holiday and it colors all my feelings for Thanksgiving as well, but Christmas is the only holiday that makes me feel the most kindness and caring from others. It's a time to be grateful, a time to be happy, and a time to give and I love everything about it. I hope this chapter lives up to something for all of you and helps you find the cheer of the season as we all head into the Christmas holiday. Thank you to all of you who have come this far, I couldn't have done it without your kind words and your enthusiasm. So enjoy this one, I certainly did. 
> 
> This may sound weird as a side note, but if you haven't checked out reapersun on tumblr.com, you totally should, she has some amazing Kirk/Spock art (as well as Johnlock art) on her website reapersun.tumblr.com. A really nerdy, enthusiastic and fanatical part of me hopes that some day she might stumble across this fanfic and be really inspired by it, she has definitely inspired me with some of her art. 
> 
> Merry Christmas you guys. <3

With the Christmas shopping finished, the house adequately decorated, and a batch of gingersnap cookies cooling on a rack by the stove; Christmas Eve arrives at the Kirk farmhouse in Iowa, bringing with it lazy snowflakes and a bone-deep chill. Spock is beginning to dress in layers inside the house, despite Jim's close management of the hearth and thermostat the house still hovers around seventy degrees, a temperature he finds cool while the humans find it a tad balmy.

Despite the cold, the day feels warm simply from David's cheer, the child growing more and more excited and restless as the day wears on. Jim does his best to distract his child, enlisting his help with Santa's cookies and letting David follow Santa's progress over the globe according to a tracker on the web. Eventually, David became so wired with anticipation that Jim let him loose into the backyard, leaving both he and Spock to watch him play outside from the kitchen windows.

Passing his partner a mug of heated cider, Jim braces his elbows against the counter top and cradled his own mug in both hands, watching David run about the yard. "It's so easy, being a kid." He mutters, casting Spock a sheepish half smile. "Hardly any responsibilities, always something to imagine and play with. When I was a kid, I could have fun with a rock and two sticks." His words echo inside his mug as he takes a sip of cider, straightening up to turn and lean his hip against the edge of the sink.

"It sounds as if you miss being a child, Jim." Spock observes, standing opposite his mate and leaning into the edge of the kitchen island.

Jim seems to think about that for a moment, squinting at a spot somewhere over Spock's head before replying, "No, I don't really. I had a shitty childhood, besides...you've got way more freedom as an adult. No one to tell you what to do. But in exchange for all that freedom, you've got bills and responsibilities to consider." Jim grimaces, "So I guess there really is no way to win."

Arching a brow, the two of them lapse into silence and gaze out the wide window. Jim heaves a huge sigh and mutters, "Don't eat the snow, David..." He shakes his head, "there's no telling where it's been."

Later that evening after David's bath, the three of them relax before the fire with Spock and Jim on either end of the sofa and David curled up in the center beneath his blanket. They end up watching 'A Christmas Story' with David laughing at the misfortunes of a particular blonde boy in the plot. Spock finds a few things perplexing, in particular the value of one pink bunny jumpsuit given to the child starring in the film. But both Jim and David seem to enjoy it and Spock can appreciate the humor for what it elicits from his companions.

Before the credits roll, David's eyes begin their slow sleepy blinks and Jim leans forward to place the nearly empty bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, picking his son up from the sofa, blanket and all. "Alright, buddy...time for bed." He says soothingly, "and when you wake up in the morning, it will be Christmas and Santa will have brought you presents. That is, if you were a good boy this year."

David rubs his eyes, laying his head down against his father's shoulder and waving sleepily at Spock in goodnight. "I was a good boy..." He mumbles his lower lip half way to a pout.

"I'm sure you were," Jim assures his son, adjusting David's weight against himself before climbing the stairs to put the child to bed. When he comes back downstairs a few minutes later, he stifles a yawn of his own and pauses by the television set to extract the movie disk from the player.

Spock casts a dubious glance at the plate of abandoned cookies by the hearth, "I see no reason why we should be catering to an imaginary being." He murmurs, "Shall I place them in the pantry?"

With a shake of his head, Jim picks up one of the cookies and bites into it, putting it back on the plate with the others which are left untouched, "It's all a part of the experience Spock. Think of it as indulging a child's imagination." He grins, "When David wakes up in the morning, not only will there be gifts, but a bite out of a cookie. The last thing he'll think is that I took that bite."

Spock arches a slender brow, "The child is not stupid, James."

"I'm not saying he is," Jim defends himself, returning to sit on the sofa within Spock's reach, "but when you're a kid, it's so much more fun to believe a lie like Santa Claus than to realize it's just your parents." He whispers, as if concerned that David may overhear him.

"Surely he will not always believe that, Jim."

"Of course not," Jim shrugs, "but until some dumb kid ruins it for him, I'll continue to leave fake evidence of the fat man." He chuckles.

Their eyes stray towards the lit tree in the center of the large bay window to their left and Jim runs a hand through his hair, curving his fingers around the juncture of shoulder and neck and attempting to massage the muscles there. Spock gently brushes those fingers aside, not saying anything in reply to Jim's inquisitive look before sliding his hand around the base of Jim's neck. He is careful and restricts the amount of pressure he exerts over Jim's musculature, gathering bundles of nerves and tendons under his fingers and compressing them. Jim lets out a soft sound half way towards a moan and Spock takes encouragement from it.

Urging his mate to arrange himself at a better angle, Spock draws on his knowledge of the human body gained from classwork long since committed to memory at the Academy, a physical map of the bones and muscles set before him in Jim's slumped frame. "How long has this bothered you?" He asks when he shifts a thumb across one of Jim's shoulder blades, effectively trapping and bearing down on a muscle knotted by tension.

Jim's breath catches, his head falling forward and his arm on that side falling limp in his lap. "I...don't know." He mutters, a shudder rolling through his frame when Spock manages to coax the muscle into relaxing. Moving on past Jim's shoulders, Spock marks the nodules of the spine with his fingertips, finding spaces between the C5 and C6 vertebrae to press with his thumbs. He exerts a considerable amount of pressure and Jim releases a moan, going limp almost immediately.

"Holy shit..." Jim mumbles his voice muffled against the back sofa cushions where his head has come to rest, his whole body curled in on itself, "what did you do?"

"I simply released the pressure you have been experiencing due to the strain in various muscle groups across your chest and arms. You have been experiencing neck pain so I stimulated the nerves causing the strain. It is a neuro-pressure technique I have some proficiency in." Spock explains, though he gets the feeling that Jim isn't exactly listening all that closely.

"Mm-hmm," Jim hums in reply, "Fucking Christ that felt amazing." He sighs, straightening up slowly and rolling his neck and shoulders, feeling the new range of movement he hadn't realized he had been without. "You should be a masseur or something." At Spock's silence, Jim turns to regard him, then seems to realize what he has just said and inclines his head, nodding, "Oh, right, touch telepaths and all..." He trails off, stretching his arms out above him, hyper-extending his shoulders a little.

"Without careful practice, I could have made a simple error and paralyzed you." Spock says, "Performing neuro-pressure techniques requires great focus and a calm mind, it is not a common practice."

Jim blinks his throat working as he swallows nervously, "Oh...well, thanks for not paralyzing me then." He snorts, "I guess I shouldn't be surprised, I have seen you drop a guy twice your size just by clamping your hand around his neck and shoulder." Jim motions towards the base of his neck loosely, "though I've never checked to make sure if he's dead or not once you've done it."

"A Vulcan nerve-pinch simply targets the trapezius nerve bundle, the extensive pressure and the energy expended from my fingertips renders my opponents unconscious. There have been some records of injuries, such as the rupturing of neuro-fibers if too much pressure is exerted over the area, but I do not believe I have ever caused damage to that extent." Spock admits, much to Jim's silent interest.

"You should teach me how to do it some time." Jim requests, his smile crooked.

"It is a difficult technique to master, James."

"Have you ever known me to shirk a challenge, Spock?" Jim asks smugly, "I mean it wasn't exactly a cake walk befriending you in the first place." He smirks.

Spock's eyes warm fondly, though he doesn't grace the comment with a smile of his own, offering instead his two fingers. Jim pauses for only a moment before returning the intimate gesture, sliding his fingers over Spock's and down along the back of his hand, causing the Vulcan to sigh softly. Distracted by the contact, Spock doesn't realize Jim has moved until his mate leans into him, letting his hand continue up Spock's arm until he can cup the nape of Spock's neck, bringing his taller partner down to indulge in a more human form of intimacy.

Jim's lips are warm as they seek out Spock's own, coaxing a response out of him with their gentle pressure. Jim's arm encircles his shoulders, drawing him nearer still until they are turned into one another, each seeking the comfort of the others touch. Their released passions cause hands to roam, fingers to find skin and seek more of it almost desperately, each of them distantly aware of the mere week they have left in each others company.

A clutching hand finds its way to the roots of Spock's hair, dragging a moan from his throat as his own hands find and grasp Jim's waist as it shifts, Jim's legs sliding across the sofa until his knees find purchase and place him at a higher vantage point over Spock. With his head tipped back and Jim leaning over him, Spock slides his hands up the back of his partner's sweater, mapping the planes of his strong back. A warm, wet tongue slides across his lips, parting them, and Spock tastes the spice of cider and cinnamon in Jim's mouth.

"Lay back," Jim pants softly when they withdraw, blue eyes dark with desire as hands press into Spock's chest and shoulders, urging him to lie with his back to the cushions, his head coming to rest along the armrest of the sofa. He looks up at Jim as his counterpart moves to sit astride him, knees tucked up against Spock's hips on the sofa.

Arching a brow, Spock makes a motion with his eyes, very pointedly making a glance towards the ceiling and the quiet room that lay above them with David fast asleep in bed. "Perhaps a more private section of the house would be more beneficial to our-"

"Shut up Spock," Jim huffs, sliding his hands over his Vulcan's chest and leaning over him, kissing Spock into submission against the sofa cushions. His hands devil beneath Spock's sweater, only to draw back in confusion when his hands find a second sweater beneath the first instead of bare skin. "Spock..." he questions, "if you've been cold, why didn't you say something?"

"I did not wish to make you and David uncomfortable by increasing the temperature in the house." Spock replies in defense, somewhat amused when Jim must push the second sweater up over his stomach to reach his flesh.

"Oh, Spock..." Jim mutters, shaking his head and bracing a hand against the back of the sofa so he might lower his face towards his mate's, grazing his lips over Spock's and whispering into his skin, "we could have worn shorts." He tucks himself in against the tilt of Spock's jaw, forcing the Vulcan to turn his head to allow him more room as lips traverse a linear path down the slope of his throat. Spock's eyes flutter shut as he succumbs to the instinct to allow Jim his explorations, taking pleasure in the brush of warm lips and the salacious slide of tongue against his neck and collarbone.

"Shorts in December?" Spock questions, though there is little interest in his tone, his breath hitching when Jim's fingers find clever places to press and rub across his chest and sides. Brown eyes flicker up at the ceiling, somewhat hazy as he's driven to distraction beneath Jim, "Not exactly a logical...compromise." He arches beneath Jim, their bodies colliding, Jim's sweater rucked half way up his frame with Spock's hands pressed firmly to his back. Jim nips at the skin of his shoulder, the collar of his sweater pulled aside for the amorous wandering of Jim's mouth. The scent of their arousal fills the space between them, thick and heated. Jim's fingers slide beneath the curve of Spock's back, following the line of his spine until they reach his lower back, brushing the slight protrusions of his chenesi, surprising a gasp out of the Vulcan .

"Whoa, what was that?" Jim grins triumphantly down at his formerly stoic companion, as a jade flush spreads across pale cheeks. But before he can question his mate further, Spock grasps Jim by the hips and tugs him down. Their legs tangle together as Jim stretches out over him, their mouths slotting together frantically, and bodies endeavoring to draw closer together. A soft moan from Jim breaks the silence a moment later, Spock's hands finding ways to pleasure his human lover.

"Wait, wait..." Jim pants, levering himself up on one elbow to meet Spock's confused stare, "let me try something." His eyes seem devious but also uncertain and Spock releases him long enough to allow him movement, his mate shifting down along the sofa, bent low over him to place kisses over the exposed skin of his stomach and hips. It is only when Jim grasps the fastening of his trousers that Spock realizes the path of which Jim has decided to take, lifting his hips so Jim might free him of his lower encumbrances.

Sliding to the floor, Jim takes Spock's trousers down with him, a cautious glance thrown towards the entry of the living room, just to be certain they are in no danger of being suddenly discovered before his hands slide up Spock's bare thighs. Spock sits up a little, bracing his elbow on the armrest of the sofa and placing his back in the corner, looking down at his partner with a mix of nerves and intense arousal. Blue eyes journey up the length of Spock's body, gazing up at him and gauging his reaction when warm hands find and take hold of his sex. Spock releases a pleasured sigh, giving into the strength of his desire and gaining satisfaction in the ministrations of his partner.

"We have to be quiet," Jim reminds him, to which Spock simply nods, tensing with hot anticipation flashing through his body. A cool mouth wraps around the head of his shaft with an experimental flicker of the tongue that causes Spock's eyes to slam tightly shut. Every muscle in his body is flexed to the point of aching, longing to reach out and take hold, find and seize control. But here he submits, finding gratification in letting Jim come to know his form in every state.

Spock threads his fingers through Jim's downy soft hair, brushing it back from over his forehead and allowing himself to gaze down at his companion, experiencing another warm rush of sensation across his nerve endings when Jim adds a bit of suction from his parted lips. Spock bites back a moan, his hips flexing forward beyond his control. Only Jim compensates for his movements, his free hand sliding up Spock's leg to firmly grasp his hip, deciding the pace of this act on his own. Impatience clouds Spock's mind, emotion and arousal kicking his heart into a faster rhythm. Undeterred, Jim plays his tongue across hard flesh, wicked eyes cast up to meet his lover's.

With keen focus, Spock slides his hand down out of Jim's hair, fitting it instead against the side of Jim's face and watching his partner's eyes widen with the familiar push throughout his mind. Spock opens the channel between them, feels a second wave of arousal akin to his own waft across their link from Jim's chaotic mind. He senses so many thoughts and swirling emotions, all fraught with sentiment and precious feeling. Questions and curiosity, love and deeper feelings of connection that Spock has never felt with another; they bloom between them like a beautiful stain. Through Spock, Jim can now feel the effects his own activities have on his Vulcan lover, shared across the link like echoes of memory that excite Spock's human counterpart even more.

One of Jim's hands disappears from Spock's thigh, and Jim's added pleasure is enough to make Spock's vision swim when it accompanies his own. With all barriers crossed and Jim's movements reaching a crescendo, they both reach the pinnacle of their release together, locked in a mental and physical rush that shakes them both to their cores. Jim coughs when he draws away, only to lay his cheek across Spock's thigh, shuddering through the aftershocks of his release under the gentle hand his Vulcan rests over the crown of his head.

Afterward, Jim is the first to speak, his voice a mere croak in the quiet living room, "That was...incredible." He rasps, licking his glistening lips, his features cast in shadow beneath the curve of his shoulder, blonde hair set ablaze by the light of the fire before them.

Spock sinks towards a more neutral state, his heart rate steadily slowing and his breathing returning to normal, though his level of satisfaction and intimate connection with Jim remains and he manages a weary snort, surprising the hell out of his companion. Jim's head snaps up, regarding him with all measures of shock and awe.

"Did you just...?" Jim smirks, tipping his head down to press a kiss into the soft flesh below Spock's hip, "I don't think I've ever heard a single sound of amusement out of you before Spock."

"Usually I can control myself better." Spock murmurs, but he cannot bring himself to feel shame for the uncharacteristic slip, preferring instead to bask in the warm glow of Jim's sexual satisfaction. After a while however, they both seem to realize that common decency will not allow them to spend the night in such a position in such an open room of the house; and so Jim sits up with a grunt and wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

"C'mon, I need a shower...join me?" His smug offer causes one of Spock's brows to make its journey skyward, but even his dislike of situations involving water does not deter him as he rises off the sofa, dragging his trousers up from around his ankles with as much dignity as he can muster.

Snickering, Jim takes the lead upstairs, glancing back over his shoulder at the mussed visage of his lover, silent laughter causing his dark eyes to sparkle most appealingly.

 

Spock awakens later that night, confusion tangling his mind when he slides a hand forward across the bed in search of Jim, only to find empty sheets. He sits up on one elbow, considering the empty space and glancing over his shoulder towards the clock on the nightstand. It is only ten minutes past two in the morning and Spock cannot hear anyone in the bathroom, so he gets to his feet, finding Jim's robe hanging on the back of his door and stealing it to wear himself. Wrapping the soft material around him, Spock pads in bare feet down the stairs with a glance at David's door, seeing it closed tight for once. Frowning, he reaches the bottom step and peers around the doorjamb of the entryway, only just seeing Jim’s tousled head before the hearth bent forward over his task.

"Jim?" Calling his lover's name softly, Spock enters to find Jim has drug every wrapped gift downstairs from his closet, leaving them stacked around the base of the Christmas tree.

Jim tenses and whips his head around, not having heard Spock's approach and slumping with relief when the sudden fear of discovery leaves him. "Oh Christ, you scared the hell out of me." He hisses, leaning back into the edge of the coffee table.

What Spock finds is three stockings littered across his companion's lap, stuffed half full with various items. Puzzled, he inquires, "What are you doing down here?"

"Playing Santa Claus, what else?" Jim mutters, rolling his eyes and burying a yawn in the crook of his arm before returning to stuffing random items into a stocking. It's only when Spock draws closer that Jim quickly snatches up a plastic shopping bag, shoving it behind his back on the floor and directing a good-nature glare up towards Spock. "Don't come any closer...you wait over there." Jim gestures with his chin towards the dining room, waiting patiently until Spock complies, turning his back and taking the opportunity to glance outside. He doesn't know what he expects to see, certainly not bare ground and green grass; so the presence of white snow isn't all that new to him when he stares out past the curtains.

"Okay, you can look now. Come help me with David's stocking." Jim says a little while later, holding out the child's red and white stocking towards Spock. "You hold, I’ll stuff," Jim smirks, rifling through his shopping bag and coming up with a small mesh bag of golden tin-foil coins, some small toy cars, a candy-cane and other various Christmas themed candies and snacks. He tops it off with two satsuma oranges and a maple sugar stick, then takes the stocking from Spock to tack it back onto the mantelpiece for safe keeping until morning.

"What do the stockings signify?" Spock asks curiously, "and why did you place things in your own stocking?"

Jim snorts, "I don't know, Father Christmas used to stick apples and oranges in kids’ actual stockings back in the day, I think. And I stuffed my own stocking because it's not like David is going to sneak down here to put stuff in it. I've got to make it seem like Santa didn't leave me out, right?"

With a slight frown, Spock withdraws from the living room and returns upstairs, this time to the guest bedroom where he has still been keeping his bag, retrieving his own gifts and bringing them downstairs. Jim casts him a curious look when Spock places a few discreetly wrapped items in both his and David's stockings. Studiously ignoring the inquisitive glances from his lover, Spock sets the two larger wrapped gifts under the Christmas tree, having borrowed some of Jim's own wrapping paper one evening after David had gone to bed and Jim had gone to work.

"I thought you didn't celebrate Christmas." Jim points out in a teasing tone.

"I do not, but you and David do and I would rather not seem rude, especially since you have gotten me something for the occasion."

"Right and you knew that before tonight?" Jim questions quietly, the two of them mounting the stairs to return to bed.

"Knowing your nature, yes," Spock says and gets a light slap on his hip for his remark.

"Don't be so damn smug," Jim reprimands softly, "you better not have snooped through my brain to find out what you're getting."

Arching a bewildered brow, Spock closes the door behind his partner and snags the man's wrist before he can pass out of reach, dragging him back half a step and cupping his cheek, "I would not invade your privacy in such a manner." He promises, the seriousness of his tone taking Jim entirely by surprise, his mate blinking up at him.

"No, I know, I was just..." Jim shakes his head, "forget about it. I'm tired; you're tired, let’s go to bed." He pulls away, crossing the darkened room and collapsing into bed again, rolling towards his side and leaving the blankets peeled back from the mattress in a silent invitation.

Spock joins him, edging up behind Jim towards the center of the bed and wrapping an arm over his middle, fitting them together comfortably and accepting Jim's weight as it relaxes back against his taller frame. "It will only be three years, Jim." He says softly, his breath warm against the back of Jim's neck, shifting the hairs at his nape.

A long sigh is the only reply Spock expects, but then Jim's weary voice penetrates the darkness, "I know, Spock. Let’s just...not think about it right now, okay?"

They lapse into silence, Jim's hand resting across Spock's arm where it has curled up towards his chest, fingers splayed over the human's steadily beating heart. Its steady thrumming and the feel of it beneath his hand is enough to lull Spock into a state of comfort again, allowing him to steadily descend into sleep once more.

 

As morning light creeps across the floor towards the bed, Spock is awoken by the sound of small, hurried feet pounding across the landing outside Jim's bedroom door. He is startled into full wakefulness when the bedroom door slams open and David comes bursting into the room with a wide excited smile lighting his face. Jim jerks next to him in bed, groaning and burying his face beneath his pillow when David's piercing voice shouts:

"He came, he really came, Santa came last night!" He bellows, bouncing across the room and leaping onto the bed between his father and Spock, scrambling up the sheets to shake his father by the shoulders against the mattress, rolling all over him and nearly falling off the bed if it hadn’t been for Jim's hand snagging him by the back of the shirt.

"Jesus Christ," Jim growls, hauling David back up onto the bed and depositing him between himself and Spock, "cool your jets kid you didn't touch anything downstairs yet, right?"

Shaking his head emphatically, David turns his beaming face towards Spock, "Santa came Mr. Spock!"

Wiping a hand down over his face, Spock dispels the fog from his brain and nods, "Auditory systems are functioning correctly, David..."

"Huh?" David blinks.

"I heard you." Spock clarifies, grunting when the child clamors over him to slide onto the floor on his other side, nearly taking an elbow to the stomach in the process. Jim heaves a sigh next to him, both tired men watching David scurry out of the room again.

"I suppose we should get up then...before he loses his patience and tears into the gifts under the tree." Rolling over, Jim slides from the bed, tossing Spock his sweater from off the floor, laughing when it catches Spock squarely in the face and falls into his lap.

They dress and join David downstairs, finding him impatiently waiting in the armchair nearest the tree, bouncing in place with his hands firmly clasped between his knees, his hair a wild mess from having just woken up as well. "Can we open them Daddy?"

"Yeah, I guess breakfast can wait." Jim says around a yawn, fingers scratching at his chest as he trudges towards the tree and stoops to pick up the first gift.

Spock steps into the kitchen to the sounds of tearing wrapping paper and excited exclamations from David, pouring water into the coffee machine for Jim and starting its brewing cycle. He takes a steaming mug to Jim a little while later, receiving a grateful smile and a chaste kiss from his lover for his efforts.

"Cool!" David shouts upon opening his second gift.

"Do you know what it is?" Jim asks his son softly, smiling when David shakes his head, still staring at the boxed toy. "It's a Hot Wheels race track. I'll help you set it up in your room later." Jim promises.

"Cool!" David exclaims again, setting his gift down by his feet and accepting the second one Jim hands him. All-in-all, David gets five new toys and two sets of new jeans with themed t-shirts to match and then he is calming down with his stocking in his lap, reaching into the deep foot of it to extract his candies and little toy cars. Jim gets to his feet and selects a larger box from under the tree setting it on Spock's knees with a grunt and Spock immediately straightens at the weight of the gift deposited in his lap.

"What's this?" He questions, looking up at Jim.

"Open it and find out." Jim grins, perching on the edge of the coffee table to watch as Spock neatly and strategically unwraps his gift, sliding a nail beneath the tape holding the box shut. Inside are stacks of books, old classics systematically wedged into the box. He reads a few of the titles: 'The Odyssey', 'The Catcher in the Rye', 'The Call of the Wild', and Mary Shelley's 'Frankenstein' are just a few of the titles sitting on top and Spock looks up at his mate with warmth and gratitude.

"Thank you James." He murmurs, touched by the thoughtfulness of his partner.

"I know you don't get much free time, I never had any when I was Captain. But I figured you could use a few new books to read, those are some of my favorites." Jim explains with a slight shrug.

Setting the box down on the floor, Spock gets to his feet and picks up the three gifts he had placed the night before under the tree. He hands two of them to David, who takes them with wide and excited eyes while the last he hands to Jim.

"You really didn't have to, you know." Jim says, but his remark goes unanswered and he tucks into the wrapping paper to find his gift beneath. He immediately falls silent in shock, reading aloud, "You got me a...Canon EOS Rebel T5i?" His shoulders slump in shock, resting the box on his knees and staring up at Spock, "with a fifty-five and two-fifty millimeter lens? God, Spock...this is too much." He whispers.

"I admit it is somewhat of a selfish gift...as I will be missing a few moments, I would not be opposed to receiving photos of David and yourself while I am away." Spock comments and is interrupted by David's voice behind him.

"Daddy, Mr. Spock got me a ship!"

In David's hands is a replica of the USS-Enterprise in all her finer details and glory, suspended on a stand to keep it aloft and poised in flight. The child's excited smile says it all when he looks up at Spock, setting his gift aside to scramble out of his chair and wrap his arms around Spock's legs in an embrace. "Thank you Mr. Spock." David says, lifting his eyes up towards the Vulcan admiringly.

Sifting his fingers through David's mussed hair, Spock inclines his head, "You are welcome, Merry Christmas David."

Another set of arms wrap around him and Spock turns his head to regard Jim, accepting a second kiss, this one lasting a little longer than could be considered modest around a child. "Thank you, Spock." Jim murmurs, his warm eyes studying Spock's features fondly. "I'll take lots of photos of David and me and send them to you when I can." He promises.

"What's this?" David asks, having opened his second gift and holding up a stuffed teddy-bear with long fake tusks.

"That is a stuffed sehlat." Spock explains, "I had a pet sehlat when I was your age and it seemed only right that you did too. As they do not live on this planet that is the closest thing I could find that would suffice."

"His name is..." David squints, studying the fluffy face of his new companion, "Patrick." He grins.

Approaching the fireplace, Jim takes his and Spock's stockings down off the mantle, handing Spock his own before sitting on the edge of the hearth to dig into his own. Looking into his stocking, Spock pulls out a few oranges and a framed photograph he had noticed on Jim's end table weeks ago depicting his mate and David. Spock rubs his thumb over the glass, looking up at Jim, "You will not miss this one?"

Jim shakes his head, "I'll have plenty more now that I have a better camera. Keep that one, put it on your desk or something." He grins.

Jim's stocking contains a few of the same items in Spock's and David's, along with a wrapped gift from Spock he pulls out and inspects. "A pocket reference guide?" He asks, flipping through the pages once he has unwrapped it, "wow...conversions and everything. How to build the perfect fire; a map of London...San Francisco, Boston, Chicago." Lifting his eyes off the page, he smiles, "this thing has everything. A man's guide to life." He snorts.

"I was assured by the bookseller that it makes a good gift." Spock replies.

"Yeah, no...This is great." Jim grins, "All the stuff my dad should have taught me really. Thanks Spock." Arching a brow, he puts down the book and his stocking, leaning forward and opening the box containing his camera resting on the coffee table and pulling it out. Finding the battery pack and sliding it into place, he powers it on and checks through some of the settings, lifting it to his face to peer through the lens, adjusting it a little before he motions to Spock and David, "You two, on the couch so I can take my first picture with this beast." He smiles, lifting the camera to his eye again and adjusting the lens as David crawls onto the sofa beside Spock, leaning into him as the Vulcan settles an arm around him. 

Spock doesn't necessarily smile for the photo, but his expressive eyes convey his pleasure and contentment, even as David's wide smile expresses enough happiness for them both. When Jim pulls the camera back to look at the digital display, a gentle smile lights his face like the dawn and he murmurs, "Perfect."


	18. Ashayam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As our story draws to a close, Jim and Spock spend their last night together New Years Eve followed by a dreaded New Years Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are guys, the final chapter (minus an epilogue and bonus chapter), it took a lot for us to get here but we finally did and I couldn't be more thankful for all the support and lovely comments you guys have given me. I couldn't have done this without you. I would like to thank NWKate especially, for he lovely beta'ing throughout this story (we're almost caught up, yay!). 
> 
> Finally, I have to put this warning out in case anyone still has their hopes up, but this chapter is very angst-filled and can be a little trigger-ish if you have ever had to say goodbye to a loved one leaving you behind for a job. I kept to the realistic side of this story and I know that doesn't exactly cater to the outcome a lot of you were hoping for, but there is a warning that this story is an angst-filled one! However, the pain won't continue, because I will be writing a second part in the near future (trust me, no one is going to die). So read at your own risk, I cried a little writing this chapter... 
> 
> Without further adieu, read on my faithful readers, and thank you. <3

James Tiberius Kirk is not stupid, but in the days leading up to Spock's departure for the Enterprise he chooses instead to remain in a state of ignorance. After all, ignorance can be bliss, right? But rather than express his distress outwardly, it comes out in his subconscious and the nights he and Spock sleep together curled up in each other’s company turns unexpectedly restless after Christmas has passed. Often Jim finds himself lying awake considering the beams of the ceiling above his head and the soft sounds of his Vulcan companion feigning slumber on his left.

He knows Spock is faking sleep, and he knows Spock probably knows he is aware of it, but it’s as if they have both signed some unwritten agreement about how they will deal with the hours counting down towards the New Year. Neither he nor Spock wishes to address the coming separation, because neither of them wishes to face those emotions prematurely. Quick, like a Band-Aid, that was how Jim preferred tough farewells, it was exactly how he had left the Enterprise. If his methods created enemies out of friends, he had never once looked back to check. But this was different, this was Spock.

It wasn't just Jim feeling the strain of upcoming goodbyes, David had picked up on the tension as well and had become quiet and tentative around both Jim and Spock. He would bring his toys downstairs to play with them in the living room, but never anything noisier than his building blocks or new race track set. They had left the tree up even though it was starting to show signs of decay about the limbs, both Jim and David clinging to that holiday cheer just a little while longer. 

The snow hadn't let up over the past few days and Jim had thought making a casual comment about Spock staying due to the weather would be amusing, but it had only caused another bubble of silence and strain between himself and the Vulcan. In the end, they just acted like January first wasn't creeping up on them, even though they both knew Spock's bag was already packed and waiting in the guest bedroom.

To ease a little of his anxiety, Jim started using his Christmas gift from Spock, taking pictures of his son and Spock constantly. There were photographs of Spock and David eating breakfast, talking, sitting on the sofa and watching television, and bent over the coffee table littered with drawings or toys. It wasn't hard to see that Spock was spending all his available time with David, finding it prudent to give the child what undivided attention he could up until he had to leave. It was enough to make Jim's heart ache for his son. David was nearly six, but even that young he was observant, he had heard the adults talking in lowered voices and he knew Spock couldn't stay, that he had a ship and a crew to command. Although the nightmares had not yet started, Jim knew better than to hope his son wasn't going to have them this time.

"Jim..." Spock murmurs in the dark the night before New Year’s Eve, his voice barely above a whisper yet still startling his partner.

"Jesus..." Jim hisses, turning his head to glance at Spock in the bed across from him, "what?" he sighs, hoping that Spock isn't about to break their unspoken pact of silence.

"You have not slept well these past four days," Spock observes.

Heaving a weary sigh, Jim palms a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. Bracing his arms against his knees, Jim dips his head between his shoulder blades slumped in defeat, "I know...too much on my mind, I guess." He says dismissively, hoping Spock will drop the topic. He should have known better.

"I understand your worries." Spock says softly, reaching out to lay a hand against Jim's back, causing him to turn and look back over his shoulder at the Vulcan.

"Yeah, well...you're not the one being left behind." Jim can't restrain the bitterness painfully alive in his voice and he swallows it down thickly, immediately regretting his choice of words, "I'm sorry, that wasn't fair of me."

"I would accept your anger right now," Spock offers, "if it meant your uncharacteristic silence would end."

"You want me to yell at you?" Jim asks his tone flat and disbelieving.

"If it would ease these tumultuous feelings radiating from you, yes." Spock levels a firm stare at his counterpart, almost challenging.

Jim considers his Vulcan partner for a long while, studying him in the deep, grey shrouded gloom of the bedroom. Finally, he shakes his head, turning his gaze away from the almost pleading glimmer of Spock's eyes, leeched of their color in the dark, "I don't want to wake David up." He sighs. "Besides, what is there to say that we haven't already said?"

They were at an impasse, a juncture of their lives where their paths forked and there was no other option for either of them but to move forward. "I've come this far without you holding my hand, Spock." Jim declares, the bitterness back in his voice, "I think I can make it from here. It's not like I came into this thinking you could drop everything to remain here. What is here in Iowa for you anyway? There isn't even anything here for me." Sliding a hand up to curl around the nape of his neck, Jim rubs the tired muscles there. "You've helped me enough Spock, it's time for me to help myself for a while. Hopefully," his words straggle off into silence, finishing only when he's managed to quell the self-deprecating laugh trying to bubble up from his chest, "I'll have my shit together again when you come back."

Rather than respond to his lover with words, Spock rises up out of the sheets, forcing Jim to look at him, tucks a hand under his jaw and claims the man's mouth with his own in a lingering kiss. When they part again, Spock touches the side of Jim's face and they both feel the echo of a connection between them. Jim's eyes flutter shut as he leans into that touch, "I'm just so...tired of dreading this." He whispers under his Vulcan's palm, tilting his head down until it can rest against Spock's shoulder.

"As I am." Spock admits softly, sliding his arms around Jim and drawing him back onto the bed with him, wrapping him up in his embrace and the warmth of the sheets.

"I guess...we'll just keep pretending then." Jim whispered words are muffled against the front of Spock's shirt as he feels fingers sifting through his hair. Together, they fall into an uneasy doze, each wrapped up in thoughts of each other and thankful that they do not dream.

 

New Year’s Eve comes inexorably the next morning and neither Jim nor Spock wish to confront it as they rise and go about their day. Before David wakes, Jim finds Spock in the kitchen brewing tea and says, "We've got to keep David busy today, the more excitement the better. I want him to be too worn out to do anything but sleep tonight. School starts back up for him on the sixth and if I can get him back into his old schedule again, it'll be easier for the both of us."

"Indeed," Spock says with a nod, continuously dunking a tea bag into his mug of steaming water to steep it faster, "what exactly are you suggesting we do?"

Thinking for a moment, Jim remembers his promise to David earlier that November while Spock had been away in San Francisco, "How about we take him ice skating, to start."

An arched, slender brow is Spock's only protest and Jim takes it as a sign that Spock has no better ideas, so when David wakes, Jim feeds him a quick breakfast and the three of them end up bundled into Jim's car a little over an hour and a half later.

"James," Spock's voice is already tinged with trepidation as he stands on the sidewalk outside the parking lot turned skating rink some twenty minutes later, eyeing the individuals willing to face life and limb in a rather dangerous endeavor, "I do not own a pair of skates."

"We'll have to rent you a pair then." Jim says with a grunt, straightening up from bending over David at the curb, tying his child's skates tightly onto his feet. He points to a tent with a few of the neighborhood locals are sitting in lawn chairs sipping hot beverages. Picking David up, Jim carries him around the perimeter of the parking lot, Spock following at a more reluctant pace.

They rent a pair of skates for Spock that fit him well enough and Jim puts David down long enough to shove his feet into his own skates, stepping carefully out onto the ice then turning around to collect David, balancing his son against his hip. Together, they watch Spock lever himself up onto his feet, taking a horribly undignified step onto the ice, wobbling hard enough to make Jim offer his arm in alarm. "I take it...you've never skated before?" Jim asks with a slow grin, David laughing boisterously with excitement and begging to be set down.

Spock clutches at Jim's sleeve, half bent forward in a stiff tense posture; and slowly sliding across the ice without any effort on his part. "When would I have ever had the chance to learn? I come from a desert planet, Jim." Spock points out the obvious, almost snapping at his partner and whipping his other arm out very suddenly in an effort to keep himself from unceremoniously depositing himself on his ass on the ice. A stifled laugh from Jim is enough to earn a narrow-eyed glare from the Vulcan.

Pinching his lips tightly together, Jim sets David down slowly and wraps one hand around his son's, his other gripping Spock's unsteady elbow on his opposite side. "Well great, looks like I'll be teaching both of you then." He smirks crookedly, "actually, David was doing pretty well last time, maybe he can teach you." Jim chuckles.

"Bend your knees!" David orders Spock, flailing his free arm wildly, his skates slipping out from under him and turning him into dead weight in Jim's grasp until he can be straightened out again. "Daddy says to bend your knees." David laughs, beaming at them both.

Spock's brow seems to be permanently lodged into his hairline, but he makes the effort, lowering his posture in an attempt to improve his center of gravity. "Vulcans...were not built...for this kind of activity." He grouses under his breath, drawing another unsympathetic bark of laughter from his partner.

"You look like a terrified penguin trying to take flight." Jim chuckles unhelpfully, finally taking pity on his awkward lover. "David, I'm going to go once around the rink with Mr. Spock, maybe he'll get the hang of it. Sit down and don't move from here, alright?" Jim commands, squatting to sit David's butt down on the curb just a few steps away from the watchful eyes of the tent minders.

"Okay." David pouts softly, but the expression doesn't last when Spock flails behind Jim, catching himself on his hands and knees on the ice with a resounding crack.

"Vulcans," he grunts, "are also more dense."

"Did you break the ice?" Jim grins, straightening up and offering a hand to Spock, pulling him up from his crouch.

"I cracked it." Spock says almost sullenly.

Jim howls with laughter, saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You're not fat and the ice is thin, it was just damn funny." He snorts, "c'mere, let me show you." Chuckling, Jim turns himself to face his companion, skating backward slowly across the ice and taking a hold of Spock's sleeves, towing him forward out onto the rink. They get a few odd looks from the skaters around them and Jim can see the locals seated under the tent grinning at them, but he doesn't draw Spock's attention to that as he takes one last glance over the Vulcan's shoulder at David still seated on the sidelines before focusing on Spock's form. "Keep your feet about a shoulder's width apart, that's right." Jim nods, using his skates to lightly nudge Spock's out a short distance until they are separated adequately. "The rest is just shuffling; use your back foot to push off from the ice."

Eventually, Jim moves to Spock’s side and together they match their pacing. Spock has always been a fast learner, so by the time they reach David he isn't as wobbly or stiff as he had been. "I still see no logical reason why this would be a preferred method of transportation."

"Well, we aren't going anywhere Spock. It's just for fun." Jim explains, getting another arched brow for his efforts.

Together they grasp David's hands and lift him out onto the ice between them, towing him along, much to David's glee. "Faster!" He squeals. Jim and Spock exchange a look and Spock subtly shakes his head.

"Perhaps you had better take the child around the rink without me." Spock offers, releasing David's hand.

"Are you sure?" Jim asks, turning both he and David into a slow circle around the Vulcan, towing his son behind him.

"I will only continue to slow you down." Spock replies, folding his hands behind himself and continuing at his slower pace.

"Suit yourself." Jim says with a smile, holding tight to David's hand and saying to him, "lock your knees buddy and I'll pull you." Together they start off across the ice, leaving Spock to watch as they round the curve of the parking lot, Jim's legs pumping as they gain speed and glide around the rink accompanied by David's infectious giggles of happiness.

When Jim looks for Spock after his and David's many turns around the rink, he finds the Vulcan seated on the curb with his legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankle, content to watch as others pass him by. Jim's hair is wind tousled and David is flushed, and both of them are breathless. "Here, I've got an idea." Jim says, panting and reaching down to lift David up off the ice, depositing his son across his shoulders and holding a hand out to help Spock regain his feet. "Just a few turns and then we'll go home, okay?" Jim asks with his eyes intent on Spock's own, making it hard for the Vulcan to refuse him with his open smile.

Spock wobbles only a little when he stands pulled to Jim's side by a light tug on his wrist and having to catch himself with a hand on his partner's chest. With Jim's face grinning up at him, Spock takes a hesitant half step over the ice, casting his gaze over father and son before holding out a silent, gloved hand to Jim.

Beaming, Jim threads his fingers through Spock's own, secretly pleased that such a blatant display of intimacy doesn't seem to bother the Vulcan as they glide off together around the perimeter of the rink. Jim is faster at skating, so he takes the lead, eventually locking his arm around Spock's to keep them closer. David reaches down to pat the top of Spock's head since he is more level with the Vulcan's height atop his father's shoulders, lifting his hands up and hooting and hollering like he is on the fastest roller-coaster ever.

"I used to do this a lot when I was a kid." Jim says after their second turn around the rink, looking over at his Vulcan flushed with cold. "I'd ride my bike into town with my skates and do this under the lamp lights until Sam would have to come and get me. Frank would yell at me, tell me I was a pansy..." Jim snorts, rolling his eyes with annoyance and looking away, "They never bought me lessons or anything like that, but mom bought me a good pair of skates when I was thirteen, so I took it to mean she didn't mind my sneaking out...as long as I wasn't getting into any real trouble." Smirking, Jim squeezes his arm around Spock's, slowing them to a stop beside the curb again and easing David down off his shoulders to sit on the pavement.

"Did you ever consider turning skating into a profession?" Spock asks, taking a seat next to David and unlacing his rented skates as Jim unties David's.

"What, like figure skating?" Jim questions, arching his brows at Spock, "not really, it was more like just a hobby. It was always something I could do better than the other kids, kept me out of the clutches of bullies, they couldn't reach me on the ice." He scoffs, "until they started playing hockey in the winter."

Only the purse of Spock's lips indicates his displeasure at this little look into Jim's childhood as he ties the laces of the skates together in his hands and gets up to return them to the tent. When he comes back Jim and David have replaced their shoes and Jim turns to his partner with a shrug and a half smile, "It wasn't all bad, Spock. You don't have to give me that look."

"What look?" Spock inquires, though he and Jim both know he is hedging.

"Never mind," Jim says, letting it go for now.

"Does Santa skate?" David asks from between them on their way back to the car, reaching up and automatically curling his small fingers around Spock's, holding Jim’s hand on the other side.

"Hmn, I don't know kid," Jim muses, buckling David back into his booster seat a minute later, "maybe it's how they all get around at the North Pole." He grins.

Later that night they all sit down on the sofa with David sitting between Jim and Spock, a bowl of popcorn in his lap. Indecisively browsing through their movie selections with the remote Jim asks, "What about _'The Grinch'_?" Jim asks as David scrolls through the list on the screen.

"Mmn..." David hums in a negative, squinting at the screen.

"Do you need glasses?" Jim asks his son, brushing a hand over David's forehead and pressing his hair back off his face.

"No." David mumbles, "This one?" He pauses the cursor over _'A Charlie Brown Christmas'_ , clicking it when Jim makes a motion for him to go ahead. With the movie playing softly and David's attention captured, Jim looks across his son's head at Spock.

"Did you scrape your hands up when you fell this afternoon?" He asks Spock, to which the Vulcan lifts his right hand to show Jim the bandage over the heel of it.

"Only slightly," Spock admits a little sheepishly, smoothing his hand over his thigh, dismissing the injury.

Jim chuckles softly, reaching across the back of the sofa behind David to slide his fingers over Spock's shoulder just within reach. "I guess Vulcan's aren't geniuses at everything then, huh?"

An exasperated brow is arched his way, only making Jim grin wider. When the movie ends a half hour later, Jim checks the time and turns the television on to the international channel showing New York City in live time. "Well, we've got about two hours before midnight and they drop the ball." Jim says with an exaggerated yawn in David's direction. 

"I'm pooped, kiddo." He tries, smirking when David tips his head back and groans terribly at him.

"But Daaaaad," David whines, "I wanna stay up until midnight!"

"Maybe when you're a bit older," Jim sighs, "I already let you stay up until ten o'clock. C'mon, it's time for bed." He urges, nudging at David's shoulder until he can get the child to move. Grudgingly, David slides off the sofa and puts the nearly empty bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, the blanket across his lap falling to the floor.

"Go up and brush your teeth and I'll be up in a minute to read to you." Jim instructs, only to have David turn to Spock and make his plea.

"Mr. Spock, will you read to me tonight?"

Spock inclines his head graciously, "I shall, but do as your father says first."

With another heaving sigh, David trudges from the room, his steps slowly edging up the stairs. "What are you going to read to him tonight?" Jim asks, curious, as this is Spock's last night reading to David.

"I was considering the last one in his library bag," Spock replies, " _'The Christmas Candle'_ by Richard Paul Evans."

Jim knew the book well for he had read it as a kid himself. It was a little long, but he understood the message and wondered if Spock had already browsed through it. It was a story about a man hurrying home to his family for Christmas who stops in a chandler's shop to purchase a candle for his lantern. Instead of buying one of the fancier candles the shop owner offers him, the man buys a simple candle and receives a warning that it may cost him a higher price. On his way home, the man helps countless people along the road who look just like his relatives, leaving him penniless and cold by the time he reaches his home. Although he was cold and poor, the man ends up richer for the experience and realizes that all people are a part of one large family. Jim wonders to himself as he watches Spock climb the stairs to heed David's call, does Spock feel he is a part of their family.

When Spock comes downstairs a half hour later, Jim has turned the sound off on the television set and casts his lover a long look when he returns to the sofa. "Did he like it?"

Spock nods, "The theme was appropriate for this night."

So Jim had been right then. "I should have told him he didn't need to call you 'Mr.' Spock any longer; I think you've moved past the part of a simple family friend, don't you?" Jim asks softly, pillowing his chin on his fist with his arm braced along the back of the sofa facing Spock.

"I was under the impression that you did not exactly wish for me to give him any more reasons to grow too attached," Spock questions, situating himself comfortably next to Jim.

"Kind of late for that," Jim mumbles with a shrug, "the only way he could grow more attached to you than he already is would be if you moved in here." Refusing to let them dwell on that thought, Jim gets up from the sofa and disappears into the kitchen, coming back with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. He pauses next to Spock, waving the glasses in his hand towards the stairs. "Want to come upstairs?"

Reaching for the remote, Spock turns the television off, effectively cutting off the muted commentators mid-sentence and rising to his feet. He follows Jim upstairs, though he detours to silently close David's bedroom door fully, David's soft snores drifting from within.

With the two of them ensconced in Jim's bedroom, Jim flicks on the lights and sets the glasses down on his desk, pushing the stack of papers and paid bill stubs to one side to make room. "I'm uh, usually smoother than this." He says with a crooked, nervous smile as he picks at the foil wrapper around the neck of the bottle. "I'd have taken you into the big city, bought us tickets to a show or something. But having a kid kind of cramps a person's style sometimes."

"Spending this day with you and David was acceptable, James." Spock murmurs from where he is awkwardly standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze searching the floor in the yawning distance that separates them as Jim endeavors to open the bottle of champagne.

"I guess, what I'm saying is," Jim grunts, bending over the bottle in his hands with his fingers fitted around the cork, managing to work it free without causing the whole thing to explode and shoot bubbly onto the rug. It foams however and he quickly fits the lip of the bottle over a glass, filling it half way full and handing it to Spock before filling the second, "is that I'm not the stud I used to be." He finishes with a weary, resigned smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes as he lifts his glass towards Spock's. The rims of their glasses clink pleasantly and Jim takes a large swallow of the champagne, grimacing as the bubbles sting his nose and bracing a hand against the edge of the desk, leaning back against it. Spock refrains from drinking, holding the glass loosely in one hand before him as he considers Jim closely.

"I'm sorry. I'm making this awkward aren't I?" Jim's shoulders slump, his blue eyes tipping down to regard the bubbles in his glass. "I brought you up here, thinking I could keep the elephant out of the room and maybe we could just-"

"Jim." Spock's voice is warm and a whole lot closer than Jim had expected it to be, lifting his chin sharply in surprise when Spock takes the glass from his fingers and sets it aside on the desk behind him. "There is no avoiding the obvious," Spock says, sliding into Jim's space with a single step and setting his own glass down next to Jim's, leaving his hands free to lift and cradle the curve of Jim's shoulders, "you and I have this night, tomorrow I depart."

Jim's expression tightens when Spock finally says it, swallowing past his constricting airways and giving a few rapid blinks, nodding his head curtly and looking away from Spock's penetrating stare, "Well, when you put it that way..." He mutters with a slight wince.

"We can either choose to lament events which are already in motion, or we can cherish each other in this moment." Spock slides his hands down Jim's arms, cupping his elbows and drawing him away from the edge of the desk. Jim's blue eyes drift up meet Spock's, a trembling openness in his face leaving Spock speechless as the two lovers stare at one another. Jim's expression slowly transforms into one of intense longing and Spock's pulse begins to race as he notes the change, letting himself get caught up in the desperation of it all.

"Fucking hell..." Jim growls just before he reaches for Spock, grasping him by the front of his sweater and dragging him down into a heated kiss, teeth biting and tongue claiming what space he can across the Vulcan's mouth. If Spock is startled by his sudden ferocity, he doesn't show it as his clutching hands slide around Jim's waist and make quick work of his shirt, tugging it off over Jim's head and tossing it aside without any thought to tidiness. It only heats Jim's blood more, causing him to drag Spock forward by the hips, molding their bodies together and allowing him to feel the evidence of Spock's arousal drag against his thigh.

Tipping his head back, Jim sucks in ragged gulps of air to try and slow his heart down, Spock taking it as an opportunity to press his mouth over the pulse point in Jim’s neck, dragging sharp teeth over his skin and sending a shudder down Jim's spine. "Christ, Spock!" Jim hisses burying a hand in the Vulcan's hair and grunting when Spock pins him back up against the edge of the desk. Spock is stronger and heavier than he is, so Jim relents under his hold, clinging to Spock instead and groaning softly in an effort to remain quiet when Spock sucks a mark into the skin at the base of his throat.

A hot hand slides down Jim's thigh, lifting it until it rests against Spock's hip as the Vulcan rumbles in Jim's ear, "I will be selfish...and ask that you wait for me."

Jim's eyes flicker shut, another shiver rippling through his frame and causing the hairs at the back of his neck to rise at the sound of possession coloring Spock's tone, "You know I will." He promises, leaning his head back to lock eyes with his counterpart. Spock's brown eyes are dark in the low light of the room and they sweep over Jim's face, gentle in their regard for him and yet entirely alien with the rawness Jim can distinguish in their depths. Jim has no idea what a Vulcan's soul might look like, but in this moment he feels it must be like this, because only in the throws throes of release has Jim ever seen Spock's eyes drink him in so deeply, pleading for the truth out of him. "I promise." Jim says firmly, driving the truth home and watching relief flood through brown depths.

Before Jim can do much more than catch his breath, Spock is leading the way across the room, pausing at the door to lock it softly, that single gesture causing a nervous thrill to roll through Jim as he watches Spock walk towards the bed, tugging his sweater off over his head along the way. Jim licks his lips, his mouth watering as his eyes drag over his partner's body. There is a sweep of the spine that lends to Spock's grace in movement, the broadness of his shoulders in startling contrast to the narrow width of his waist adding strength to his form. 

As Spock busies himself with the fastenings of his trousers and belt, Jim approaches behind him and slides his hands up the expanse of slender back bared before him, leaning his forehead against the base of Spock's neck and inhaling a long breath full of Spock's spicy scent. He smells of tea and pine, a dusty musk like a warm day under the sun. His skin may be pale and appear cool, but it is warmer than Jim's when he splays his fingers over two jutting shoulder blades. Spock tips his head to regard him over his shoulder, pausing in his movements to let Jim study him.

"You know...sex in the dark is great and all but," Jim mutters, "you sure do miss a lot about a person." Swallowing, Jim lays a kiss over the rounded curve of Spock's left shoulder, spanning the Vulcan's waist with his hands and settling his fingers at his hips, burrowing them beneath the loosened waistband of Spock's trousers and giving them that final push to see them gone. Spock steps out of his last article of clothing, half turning and raising a wavering gaze to Jim's face.

"I really hope I don't forget this..." Jim whispers, sliding a hand down the flat, hard surface of Spock's chest, his eyes following the path of his touch as it skirts over the curve of one hip.

Hot, brown eyes catch Jim's attention and shake him out of his reverent explorations, spurring him to hurriedly remove his own pants, pushing his socks off his feet with his toes and running a hand through his hair nervously. His feet fit perfectly between Spock's own when he steps closer, his eyes cast down and his hands turned up to welcome Spock's as they curl their fingers together, a tremor rippling through Spock at the touch. A small smile lifts Jim's lips, encouraged to take the final half step to press himself lengthwise to Spock and feeling that fine tremor in taught muscle, Spock's rapid heartbeat thumping against his side in kind.

"Will you promise me something?" Jim asks once they have both calmed a fraction, Jim's arms twined around Spock's neck and the Vulcan's hands settled about his back.

"Anything," Spock replies, his voice steady and deep at the shell of Jim's ear, his chin resting against Jim's shoulder, their bodies warming one another.

"Promise me you won't forget about me...and David, of course. Promise me you'll be the safest damn starship captain in the fleet and come back to me whole." Jim swallows, turning his head so his cheek presses into one firm pectoral muscle.

"I could not forget you, or David." Spock replies, "And I shall promise the latter to the best of my abilities."

"Your damn best." Jim says heatedly, drawing back and reaching for the drawer of his nightstand. What he pulls out and sets on surface under the lamp has Spock flushed a soft jade, turning a questioning gaze on his lover.

"Are you certain?" He frowns.

Jim sets the small bottle of generic lubricant on the nightstand next to the fold of condoms, holding out two paired fingers towards Spock before sitting on the edge of the bed. Spock's fingers slide across his and along the back of his hand, returning the intimate gesture with all his fingers rather than just two, feeling Jim more intensely that way. "I want this." Jim says, tugging Spock down to sit next to him. "Is it okay with you?" He studies Spock's face for any tells but Spock simply nods once.

"This uh, doesn't mean we'll suddenly be married though, does it?" Jim asks, gesturing with a finger between them and bursting into a grin when Spock arches a sardonic brow at him and shoves him down onto the bed.

They spend some time exploring one another in the light of the room, remaining above the blankets for as long as they can stand before they begin to shiver and retreat beneath only a single quilt. Their lips are never far from one another, mingling in long kisses that leave Jim breathless. Spock's fingers graze across his cheek and jaw every so often, igniting little sparks of something Jim can't quite explain. He shivers every time the little shocks quiver across his skin, tasting a flash of emotion from Spock every time he does it and feeling his desire only strengthen until Spock has rolled atop him. Feeling the hard length of Spock's entire body bearing down on him, Jim slides his hands up his lover's back and relishes the feeling of finally belonging somewhere. A sense of home, of comfort and rightness swells in his chest and when Spock rocks his hips down into Jim's, he gasps at the blessed friction against his growing need.

"Here..." Jim pants, casting a hand out towards the nightstand and fumbling about until he finds the small bottle of lubricant, handing it to Spock and biting his top lip, a second spasm of nerves shoving his heart up his throat.

There are no more questions, no more uncertainty from the Vulcan as he bends forward over Jim and lays a path of tender kisses down Jim's chest and sides, pushing the quilt back until he can comfortably kneel in the center space between Jim's parted knees. His hands linger on Jim's thighs, stroking them softly until bit by bit, the tension in Jim's frame melts away. Spock understands the basic mechanics of sex between two same-sex partners, but he still takes every precaution as he warms a bit of lube between his fingers, the slickness feeling odd against his sensitive pads. A shiver wracks Jim's body and Spock leans over him again, bracing a hand on the mattress and lending the warmth of his body to his companion as he gently breaks through the last of Jim's barriers.

Blue eyes slam tightly shut as Spock proceeds, causing the Vulcan some trepidation, his calm voice reaches Jim through his momentary discomfort. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Jim says, voice strained as he holds his breath, realizing only then that he should be breathing and sliding his hands up Spock's sides. Before he can suggest they change positions, Spock drops to one elbow on the bed, pinning Jim down against the mattress with the weight of his upper body and placing his second hand over Jim's brow now clammy with a fine sheen of sweat. What Jim feels across their link when Spock nudges it open is pure bliss, and he knows it isn't coming from him, but rather from Spock. The Vulcan's touch-sensitive fingers curled inside him feel intensely stimulating and Jim can feel the press of Spock's engorged length against his thigh. They are both filled with anticipation by the time Spock withdraws, reaching for a latex condom off the nightstand, only to have Jim pluck it from his fingers and rip it open for him.

With Spock on his knees, Jim bends forward over him, pops the condom in his mouth and slides it over the Vulcan, or at least half way down. He has to pull back to finish rolling it on with his hand, tipping his head back to regard Spock with a crooked grin. "I've always wanted to try that."

Spock's arched brow is less prim this time, wavering slightly when Spock's cock gives an appreciative twitch, "A...useful skill." He says, Adam's apple bobbing on a thick swallow. He follows Jim down to the mattress again, stretching out over him. 

Pushing the pillows aside, Jim lays his head flat against the bed and shifts under Spock, parting his legs until their bodies fit against one another perfectly. His eyes are somewhat wide, searching Spock's face and watching his minute expressions as the Vulcan eases himself forward into Jim, slowly breaching his lover for the first time and feeling Jim clench around him tightly. Jim's whole body is tense, his hands clutching at Spock's back, his head bowed towards one of the Vulcan's shoulders to hide his face in the moment of their joining. Nudging Jim's cheek with his nose, Spock turns his head into Jim's, wrapping a supportive arm under Jim's neck and cradling him in that last breathless moment that brings them together.

Jim lets out a strangled groan, biting it off with teeth sunk into his bottom lip a moment later and letting his head fall back, letting himself relax and grow accustomed to the feel of Spock. Their eyes lock in the dim light of the room, Spock's own gaze tight and restrained. When Jim slides a hand up to cradle the curve of Spock's cheek, he smiles when his Vulcan turns his face into the touch, brows drawn together in what almost looks like agony. _'I love you.'_ , he projects his feelings across to Spock, focusing intently on those words and those emotions and knowing Spock understands him when brown eyes open to gaze upon him tenderly.

An unfamiliar word echoes across their link to Jim, Spock's deep baritone sending a secondary spike of arousal through him, _'Ashayam'_. When Spock begins to move in him, Jim tips his hips upward to meet him, hands reaching and holding, lips seeking and finding each other under the warmth of Jim's quilt. They meld together like finely matched pieces, clutching at one another as pleasure seizes them both and drives their movements. Eventually, they roll onto their sides, tangled together beneath the sheets until Jim gains the upper hand with a leg over Spock's hip, rolling his lover onto his back and straddling his waist.

Bending low over Spock, Jim moves his hips, taking his own pleasure from Spock and bracing his hands on the mattress for leverage. He watches every twitch and shift of Spock's features, his pupils so wide they blot out the brown of his irises, his lips swollen and flushed from Jim's kisses. His quiet sounds of pleasure are enough to drive Jim to greater heights of desperation, his nails digging into the warm skin on Spock's chest as he braces his upper body weight against him, getting used to the feeling of being filled and reaching down to wrap a hand around his own needy flesh.

He doesn't see when Spock reaches towards him, hands turned up towards his face, fingers fitting against his meld-points in a quick minute that shocks him into meeting Spock's gaze. His eyes go wide and glassy as Spock connects them and he is suddenly overwhelmed with sensation, ecstasy more than doubled as Spock shares his moment of release across their link with him. It's enough to make him come, his back arching and his head thrown back and out of Spock's reach as nerve endings fire and his muscles seize up under the strain. His body shudders through the most intense orgasm he has ever had, his body going rigid and then pliant again when Spock shields their connection, tempering what Jim feels as they both roll through the aftershocks, a warm heat spreading through Jim's body. 

Jim is distantly aware of hands grasping him, moving him and settling him against the bed again but his mind is a haze, his vision filled with flashing spots of color and light that dazzle him into submission. Spock's lips are gentle and calming against his face, caressing the meld points he had just touched moments before.

"Jim..." Spock's voice beckons both across their link and in reality, causing Jim to grow confused under their duality.

"Nnn..." Jim groans, feeling an ache in his fingers and blinking his eyes, he notices he has them clutched over the tops of Spock's shoulders, no doubt bruising the skin under his touch. His whole body is shuddering but he isn't cold, not with Spock draped warmly over him breathless and just as sated. Turning his head, he can just see one of 

Spock's eyes and it is closed, his features relaxed, almost seeming asleep. "Holy mother of God, Spock..." Jim pants; stretching his aching arms up over his head and folding them against the headboard, slowly stretching his legs out to give them a rest as well.

"Indeed." Spock says in reply, ears no doubt still ringing from the cry Jim had let loose right before orgasm.

"I hope...we didn't wake David." Jim huffs; blowing out a long breath through pursed lips, trying to get his hammering heart under control again. He is sticky with sweat, causing Spock's skin to stick to him where they touch even though the Vulcan is as smooth and dry as ever.

Spock falls still for a moment, and Jim realizes that he's listening intently so he falls silent, relaxing when Spock shakes his head. "We did not."

After another minute, Spock rolls off of Jim and they both breathe heavily for short while, legs still tangling together and laying side-by-side in Jim's bed. When Spock rises from the bed to discard the condom, Jim rolls onto his side to regard him, reaching out to brush his hand down one pale flank and making Spock glance at him intriguingly. "You're fucking gorgeous, you know..." He grumbles, letting his mouth get away from him in his hazy, blissed out state, "like a panther or something, all coiled strength and easy grace." He yawns, turning his face against a pillow to stifle it.

The bed dips under Spock's weight along the edge, a warm hand spreading flat over the center of Jim's back as he rolls to lay face down. "Thank you Jim, but to me you are more aesthetically appealing."

"Bias..." Jim grumbles, voice muffled by the pillowcase his face is mashed against. He feels a combination of punch drunk and drugged, and the feeling isn't half bad. But he can tell it's making him seem loopy.

Spock's warmth is gone a moment later and Jim distantly hears the bedroom door open and shut, cracking an eye open to see his partner return wrapped in his bathrobe with a wet cloth from the bathroom. It is warm against Jim's skin when Spock wipes it across his brow and Jim rolls over, taking it from Spock with a grateful smile and using it to clean himself up a bit before chucking it in the direction of the hamper, missing by about a foot and a half. 

"Shit..." Jim chuckles with a snort, letting his arm flop uselessly above his head and wiping the other hand over his face to try and rub some semblance of focus back into himself. "Mmn, c'mere," He says, giving the fight up and peeling the sheets back for Spock, who removes the robe and slides beneath the blankets beside Jim. The light goes out in the room and Spock shifts, gathering Jim up in his arms.

"Could we have sex...entirely in a mind-meld some day?" Jim asks curiously after a long moment of silence and even breathing. There comes a soft grunt that Jim takes as amusement out of Spock before a voice replies:

"Someday, yes. But I cannot hold the link open for that long just yet; it is too tenuous at the moment."

"You mean it's too weak?" Jim asks, "Certainly didn't feel weak."

"We are not bonded and the link is held only by what contact I can manage to keep with you. If I am not touching you, I cannot open our connection." Spock explains.

"So if we were to bond...eventually, I could talk to you from clear across a room?"

"Perhaps," Spock answers, cradling the back of Jim's head and urging him to rest it against the curve of his arm lifting his chin to rest along the crown of Jim's head.

"Something to look forward to then, I guess." Jim says with another yawn, stifling it against the swell of Spock's chest.

Although Jim had thought they might spend the entire night awake and talking, probably having another go at each other after midnight; Jim finds himself startled awake some hours later, the cool dawn dragging its cruel fingers across the floor from the uncovered window across the room. "Shit..." Jim whispers, snuffling sleepily and pressing the fingers of one hand into his tired eyes. In the night, he must have shifted to lie over Spock, his head lying against the Vulcan's warm chest. Long fingers sift idly through his hair, combing it back in continuous, soothing strokes. Jim lifts his head, lowering his chin to rest upon Spock's sternum, "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"Because you have not slept well for the past four days," Spock reminds him, causing Jim to grimace.

"Still, you should have woke me up." Fingers drag across his scalp and Jim hums softly, taking comfort in the gesture. "What time is it?" He grumbles with a squint over at the window.

"Ten minutes past five in the morning." Spock replies, his hand wandering down Jim's back soothingly.

"What time do you have to leave to make it back to San Francisco on time?" Jim asks reluctantly, lifting his upper body off of Spock with his elbows planted in the mattress.

"I must leave by eight o'clock."

Jim grimaces, "That's a little under three hours."

Spock's brown eyes sweep over his face, his hand coming to rest against Jim's cheek, but Jim turns his head down against Spock's chest so he doesn't have to look into those expressive eyes and see regret. "I will call you from the terminal in Colorado; I have a layover there."

"You don't have to." Jim murmurs, "There's not much chance that you won't make it to San Francisco safely, it's not like we take planes very many places anymore."

"No, but it could very well be my last chance to call you before my responsibilities take over in San Francisco."

Oh, well that was different then. Jim blinks, feeling like he only now is remembering that Spock is a Captain, not simply a First Officer. "Right, uh...okay. David would like that then."

Spock falls silent, the both of them feeling the creeping discomfort forming between them. Jim rolls over a short while later, muttering about taking a shower as he gathers his robe up from off the floor, pulling it on and tying it tight. Spock watches him go and Jim can feel his eyes upon his back as he closes the bedroom door softly behind himself.

In the bathroom, he closes and locks the door, leaning back against it and tilting his face up towards the ceiling. God, what was he doing? He had let himself get so close, become so attached, and now Spock was leaving and he wouldn't see him again for a very long time. Sliding his hands down over his face, Jim groans softly and turns on the water faucet to drown himself out as he folds his arms across the edge of the sink. He doesn't sob or cry, but his eyes sting as an overwhelming feeling of loneliness washes over him, reminding him of the days before Spock had come in the fall. To him, his whole life seems rather desolate, tinged with only a few bright spots, one being his son and now another being Spock. What was he going to do in the absence of one of those brightest spots in his life?

A soft knock startles Jim into turning off the faucet, disguising a rough sniff with a loud cough and dragging his fingers over his eyes to dispel any hot moisture from them. 

Spock's voice penetrates through the door, "Jim?"

"I'm fine...Leave me alone for a minute, okay?" Jim swallows, but Spock's presence remains on the other side of the door, weighing on Jim's heart until he relents and opens it, letting his lover into the small bathroom.

"Don't do this right now Spock, please. I can handle myself; this is just going to be a bump in the road for me, alright? You'll go out there, do your thing and get the job done, I'll be here with David and I'll figure my own shit out for once and we'll be just fine. I just can't-..." His hands slide off his hips, shoulders lowering under the sagging weight of his own heavy feelings. Jim's eyes slide up to regard Spock, the Vulcan lingering before the closed door and the calm look on his face is enough to make Jim break.

"I said I wouldn't ask you," He snaps, teeth clenched. Reaching up, he pinches his fingers around the bridge of his nose, sliding them up to press into his eyes as he slumps forward. Hands find his elbows and he slaps them away, forcing Spock's hold aside. "No, you don't get to comfort me about this right now; I'd rather be pissed than fucking upset and blubbering like a little shit." He hisses, only barely remembering to keep his voice low as to not wake David. 

"You're leaving and I'm stuck here, David and I get to watch you walk out that door in three hours and wonder if we'll ever see you again and it's my own damn fault for letting myself get drawn into this instead of keeping my distance. I should know better than to put my faith in something that could break apart, I shouldn't have trusted you and I shouldn't have trusted myself because now I'm here, in this fucking hole." Jim's voice breaks, embarrassing him and he shoves a hand into Spock's chest at the Vulcan's slow approach, clutching at his shirt at the same time and dragging him down as his legs buckle and sag, sending them both to their knees in the middle of the bathroom floor. He sags against Spock's chest, giving in to the desolation filling his chest so tight that he feels it might crack, his hands shaking under their handfuls of Spock's shirt.

"James..." Spock whispers, his hands curled over Jim's shoulders. "I will come back for you and David."

"You can't promise that..." Jim says in a shaking voice, "you weren't supposed," he swallows, "to see this part." Straightening up on his knees, Jim's arms surge forward to cling to Spock, wrapping tightly around the Vulcan's neck and holding on so tightly that Spock's breathe catches sharply in his chest. "If you...fucking die," Jim whispers, "I will bring you back so I can kill you myself." He sniffs pushing Spock away only to catch his chin and slot their mouths together in a fierce kiss that knocks the back of Spock's head against the door behind him. "Now get out...before we end up a mess on the floor and wake David up." Jim growls, standing and dragging Spock to his feet with one solid yank. 

He shuts the locks the door behind Spock, heart thundering in his chest and aching like a son of a bitch. Dragging a hand over his face and through his hair, he jerks the shower curtain back and slaps the faucet on angrily, pulling his robe off and wincing as an unfamiliar soreness meets his movements, acting as another reminder of his and Spock's earlier passions.

When Jim emerges from the bathroom some time later, Spock isn't out in the hall and when he moves downstairs it is to find Spock and David seated at the kitchen counter eating twin bowls of cereal. The image of them is almost enough to make Jim's throat close off with emotion and he turns away, holding onto the tiny flickering flame of his anger to stave off the more hurtful emotions. He knows it isn't fair, not to Spock or himself, to be acting like this, but if he doesn't he'll succumb to the worry and 'what ifs' that are threatening inside his head. Spock makes no attempt at conversation, absorbing David instead with talk about the Enterprise's newly installed features. Jim listens idly as he pours himself a cup of coffee, foregoing breakfast and staring out the kitchen window.

After breakfast, Spock goes up to the guest bedroom to collect his things and use the bathroom, leaving Jim to think about the stupid things he had said an hour ago. Did he really want Spock to leave him thinking he had angered him and made Jim regret ever entering into a relationship with him? He knew he wouldn't want that if their roles were reversed and the guilt ate away at him as he stood over his second cup of coffee at the sink. David had turned on the morning cartoons and their background noise distracted Jim from his thoughts, from hearing the heavy tread of Spock's steps on the stairs.

Turning, Jim abandons his coffee on the counter and emerges in the living room in time to see Spock lowering himself to one knee on the floor in the foyer with David wrapped up in his arms. He pauses in the entrance to the living room folding his arms across his chest and watching his son cling to the Vulcan.

"I will return soon, David. By the time you have almost finished third grade, I will be back." Spock says his voice tight and restrained even though his brows are thickly furrowed. He pulls away from David and grasps the child's arms, holding him out and looking him in the eye to see his understanding nod.

"That's so far away though..." David murmurs, his voice already wavering on tears, his hands rubbing at his eyes.

"It may seem so, but time passes very quickly when you are busy." Spock smooths his hand over the top of David's head, shifting his legs and beginning to straighten up, pressing his lips very briefly to David's forehead before he stands and meets Jim's eyes, looking wary and defensive.

Jim doesn't blame Spock for being cautious, especially after his earlier outburst. Biting down hard on his lower lip, Jim takes a few steps into the foyer, dropping his gaze so as not to seem aggressive, "I'm sorry I yelled earlier," He murmurs, "I don't want that to be the last thing you remember about this." He watches David bend and scoop up Snowy, holding her securely in his arms and leaning his head against Spock's leg. "I'd much rather you remembered how good things were, before you have to go."

Spock's brown eyes soften, his hands sliding down the golden tunic he wears. "I couldn't forget," he replies, tilting his head and arching a brow slightly.

Jim drifts closer, uncrossing his arms to reach up and place his fingers against the side of Spock's face, tilting his forehead up to rest against Spock's as the Vulcan leans down into his touch. Very suddenly, it is just the two of them in this moment, standing together united. Spock's voice breaks the quiet, murmuring, "Parted from me but never parted," he swallows, lifting his head to gaze down into blue eyes, "never and always touching, ashayam; beloved." He translates softly, just before Jim can catch him up in a kiss, their lips pressed tightly together, clinging to those last shreds of contact. When they break apart again, Jim's eyes are closed, a wet streak glistening down the curve of his cheek that Spock brushes aside with his fingertips.

"I love you too." Jim whispers, accepting Spock's tender admission in his own right. He reaches past Spock and reluctantly opens the front door, letting in a cold breeze and a few snowflakes as Spock bends to shoulder his bag, lifting the box of books under the other arm. He pauses on the threshold, reaching into his pocket and holding out a white business card between his two outstretched fingers.

"Call them, James." Spock says firmly as Jim takes the card, turning it over to read the name of an H.R. officer in Starfleet. "It could mean yours and David's future."

Jim solemnly nods, sliding the card into his back pocket. David rushes out onto the porch as Spock takes a step back, preparing to leave. He wraps his small arms around the Vulcan's legs, Snowy standing forgotten just inside the farmhouse door. "Don't go, Mr. Spock!" He cries, burying his face in Spock's pant-leg. "Please stay! I'll...I'll give you my blankie an' everything." He snuffles, clinging to Spock's shoulders when the Vulcan stoops again to comfort him.

"I'm sorry, David." Spock murmurs, staring hard at the floorboards of the porch over David's shoulder, "but you must do something for me," he manages to pull back, getting David to look him in the eye, "you must take care of your father for me. He does not eat as much as he should," he casts a glance at Jim before continuing, "and you must be strong, because he needs you. Can you do that for me, David?"

With a sullen nod, David lets go of Spock's sleeve, rubbing an eye with one closed fist, he and Jim watching Spock gather his things one more and turn towards the porch steps. He walks towards his waiting rental car, opening the back and placing the box of books within.

"Come here David," Jim beckons his son back into the house, sliding his hands over the boy's shoulders and keeping him pressed up against his shins, afraid that the child might run out into the snow after Spock in just his pajamas and bare feet. "Wave goodbye, David." Jim murmurs, pursing his lips tight and lifting his own hand as Spock turns to look back at them before ducking into the driver's side seat. David waves weakly, calling out:

"Goodbye Mr. Spock! Love you!"

Dropping to his knee on the rug, Jim slides an arm around David's waist, letting his child turn into him and hide his face against his shoulder in a mockery of how Spock had first met David, only shyness is replaced with sorrow this time as Jim stands, his son in his arms. Walking out to the first snowy step of the porch, Jim watches Spock back down the driveway, suddenly thinking of so many things he should have said before the Vulcan had departed. But now, all he can see are the blood red tail lights of the rental car as they slip around the bend in the road. Breathing out a slow, shaky sigh and cradling the back of David's head. "He'll be back baby...he'll be back." He croons softly to his son, turning his head to lay a soft kiss into David's hair, "Just you wait..."


	19. Bonus Chapter: Spock in San Francisco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Together we take a look at Spock's three days spent in San Francisco before the Thanksgiving holiday. He meets with Admiral Pike to discuss Jim's financial hardships and does a little Christmas shopping of his own.

Spock had never really considered San Francisco his home, not in all the years he had been at the Academy or living off campus as an instructor. So it is with an odd sense of returning to a place almost completely forgotten that he lets himself into his small apartment in the East end, the large bay window across from the entry way showing him a view of the foggy bay. Breathing in deeply, he grimaces inwardly at the mustiness of the place, fully realizing the length of time since he had been here. Sliding his hat off his head, he sets it aside on the small end table beside the door and slides his bag off his shoulder, walking with it into his bedroom. 

His apartment is simple, kept that way out of necessity and logic. He had bought the place knowing full well that the likelihood of him spending much time here was small, so his possessions are few. The living room furnishings consist solely of a couch, a table, a rug, and a small mat facing the large window where he used to meditate before attending his classes as a Starfleet professor. His bedroom isn’t any more extravagant, the bed neatly made in the corner with a desk and an end table the only accompanying pieces of furniture. 

Setting his bag down on the end of his bed, he deliberates. Is it worth the effort to unpack if he is only staying a few days to oversee Mr. Scott's progress in the _Enterprise_ 's refit job? He will not even be in the city the whole time, for he has a shuttle to catch the next morning that will take him up to Space-dock for a walk through of the ship. Oddly enough, it isn’t his ship, he has never referred to the _Enterprise_ in that fashion, not even in his thoughts. To him, it has been and always would be Jim's ship. As ridiculous and illogical as the habit was, he finds himself reluctant to break it. 

Retrieving his work PADD from his bag, he leaves the rest to sit on the floor beside his bed, turning on lights in the apartment as he goes out into the kitchen, setting the electric kettle to boil after filling it with water from the sink. On a cold, rain filled day such as this, Spock finds the stimulant of tea a necessity, especially after his conversation with Admiral Pike that afternoon.

He had barely had a chance to catch a subterranean train out of San Francisco's transport center, leave a message for Jim that he had arrived safely, and place a call to Scotty before he had received a call from the Admiral while en route to Starfleet headquarters. He supposed he should not have been surprised; after all, the same paperwork that Spock was signing for Mr. Scott, the Admiral was also looking over and signing off on. 

He had met with Admiral Pike right away, catching him after his very last appointment and agreeing to dinner. They had dined while discussing the _Enterprise_ , but gradually the conversation had turned towards Jim and his son. Spock had answered the Admiral's questions tentatively at first; hesitant to divulge information Jim might be uncomfortable having his former superior know but his tight-lipped responses had soon worn through the Admiral's patience. 

"Christ, Spock..." the Admiral complained, "Are you a man sworn to secrecy here, or shall I sign an NDA?" 

Spock had bristled a little at the Admiral's tone, setting his utensils aside and leaning back in his seat to give the man his full attention, "I am simply being...careful as to how much I tell you for I am uncertain as to what Kirk's reaction might be if he found out I sought an audience with you." 

"It wasn't you that called me Spock, I called you." Admiral Pike clarified with a slow smile, playing idly with the wrapper of his straw on the table top before continuing, "and I know why Jim doesn't want to talk to me, he's afraid." He shrugged, "I pushed him to go into Starfleet and after all the work and effort he put into it, I have a feeling he might be thinking he's let me down somehow. But," he grunted, sliding his arms to cross over his chest, "I suppose that was my own damn fault, for leading him to believe that he had to prove something to me." 

"Highly illogical," Spock had said with an arched brow, "Jim has nothing to be ashamed of. Raising a child is an admirable cause, especially a child such as David." 

Admiral Pike had studied him for a long moment after that, so long so that his stare had begun to unsettle Spock somewhat. He had been about to change the subject more towards what he needed to discuss with the Admiral when his superior spoke suddenly: 

"You like him, don't you?" Admiral Pike's eyes seemed sly and he studied Spock's features for any sign of a reaction, causing Spock to straighten in his seat somewhat. 

"He is a well behaved, inquisitive child and I have found my time in his company satisfying." Spock allowed, a small flush painting the tips of his ears when his words jarred a laugh out of the Admiral. 

"Is that your long-winded way of saying you are fond of the kid? Well, any kid of Jim's would have to be a charmer, I don't blame you." Pike had commented, "Besides, I get the feeling that you aren't here to discuss idle chit-chat about ship's business Mr. Spock. You don't often agree to outings with officers. Was there something more you wished to discuss?" 

Encouraged by the Admiral's open expression, Spock proceeded to tell the man about Jim's current financial deficiencies, bracing himself for a reaction. He was not disappointed. Admiral Pike's face had steadily turned a hue of pink that could only speak of aggravation as Spock had confided in the man how deeply Jim was placing himself into debt in order to care for himself and David. 

"Those motherfucking bastards..." Admiral Pike had growled, glancing at Spock with a slight apology in his eyes for the colorful metaphor, shaking his head and huffing, "why the hell didn't Jim come to me about this?"

"Perhaps you were right in your judgement of Jim's character, it would seem he is reluctant to accept any favors and what help I have offered him has been met with some reluctance and what I can only assume is embarrassment. He is grateful, but frustrated." 

"Well hell, I'd be frustrated too." Admiral Pike had snapped, cutting a dismissive hand in an arch over the table before sliding his chin down to rest on his fist. "All to save a buck..." He muttered. 

"I have scheduled an appointment to meet with the Chief Financial Officer of Starfleet as well as the ethics department to see if there is anything that can be done to rectify this grievance." 

"Mind if I tag along to that?" Pike had asked; a burning sense of righteous anger only just tamed in the glow of his eyes. 

"I would prefer it." Spock had said, inclining his head so the Admiral wouldn't see his satisfied rage coiled like a serpent in his own eyes. 

Spock straightens up where he stands at the edge of his kitchen counter, brought out of his memories by the incessant beeping of the electric kettle. He pours the hot water over a tea bag in his mug and lets it steep, sliding a hand back through his hair with a growing feeling of exasperation. He isn’t sure how this meeting will go, but a part of him is illogically worried about the possibility of Starfleet's refusal to reinstate Jim's pension. Spock doesn’t have the time to invest in a lawyer, he will only be here two or three days which will not be enough time to allow for someone to meet with him and learn the facts of Jim's situation. Mixed up in his other set of duties, Spock has planned his time out to the minute here in San Francisco, knowing how limited his time is. Tonight, he would look over the paper work and invoices for the ship, tomorrow he would have just enough time to attend this meeting with Starfleet to discuss Jim's pension before disembarking for Space-dock. 

A small, weary part of him is glad he had not informed Jim of his plans to talk with Starfleet regarding his pension, because if he fails, at least he won’t have to tell Jim. Bringing his mug to his lips, Spock sips his tea and picks up his data PADD, crossing the kitchen and living room to sit on his sofa and awkwardly stare at the empty wall across from him. On his way out of Iowa, he had arranged all the things he would say to convince his superiors to give Jim back his pension, lining each argument up in his mind. But now that the Admiral was going to be involved, he is somewhat at a loss as to how to proceed. Should he let the Admiral take the lead or should he be the one to pose the argument being that he is the one who called the meeting? 

Later that evening, he goes to bed in a somewhat agitated state, meditation does not help him in the least to calm the nerves that refuse to face logic. After lying in bed for over three hours and forty-six minutes without being able to achieve sleep, Spock eventually rises and begins his research anew, combing through various cases set against Starfleet in much the same manner as Jim's. He has sussed out any loopholes that may be open to them, writing them down in a document on his PADD before eventually rising to shower and ready himself for the day. He eats a modest meal and smooths the front of his grey dress uniform, tipping the stiff cap onto his head and adjusting it until it sits comfortably and doesn’t crimp his ears. 

With his PADD tucked under his arm and an umbrella open in his hand, he hails a cab, ignoring the driver's attempt at needless chatter on the way to Starfleet HQ. He had thought to approach the meeting halls first, but detours towards the staff offices when he realizes how early he is. He sees the Admiral is at his desk and knocks lightly on the glass door separating the office from the hall. Pike looks up, pressing a button to allow him entrance and shuffling some papers aside. 

"Mr. Spock, you're early. Just as anxious as I to get things moving with the brass, I suppose." Admiral Pike stands, gathering his work slate and a few other folders from his desk. He pauses leaning his hip against the edge of his desk and switching off his terminal as he gives Spock one long look. "May I ask you a more personal question, Mr. Spock?" 

"You may, sir." Spock says, his hands automatically sliding behind his back, shoulders straightening with his hat slipped between his side and the crook of his arm. 

"Why are you doing this?" At Spock's somewhat startled blink, Admiral Pike presses on, "I mean, the last time I met with you and Jim, the two of you were pretty much cordial but not exactly best of friends. Is it because of the kid?" 

"In part..." Spock agrees, his eyes sliding to the side as he configures a response in his mind, "though I would be lying by omission if I did not tell you that it is not solely for David’s care that I seek the reinstatement of Jim's pension." 

The Admiral studies him, the weight of his scrutiny oddly physical. "I haven't seen Jim in over a year, let alone met his son. He must have changed somehow, to get this kind of response out of you."

"I am righting a wrong, Admiral." Spock corrects. He has no right to say anything more about his and James' situation, their relationship was strictly platonic for the moment, though Spock was considering his former Captain's reply upon returning to Iowa. But he was not allowing himself to dwell on it, because there was a 79.899% chance that Jim would refuse him and Spock would much rather exist on this plane of uncertainty for now, at least until he had Jim's finances straightened out a little. 

"Right," Pike seems to shake himself, the sudden melancholy leaving his frame as he straightens up and gathers the necessary items, "shall we, then?" With a motion towards his office door, Admiral Pike follows Spock out into the hall and they embark on the short walk across campus in the rain to the conference hall. 

It takes them a little over two hours to make their case and discuss Jim's situation and the topic was exhausted by the time Spock and Admiral Pike are dismissed, the board of reviewers looking over the printed texts the Admiral had been gracious enough to supply for them. They argued every point in Jim's case with Spock acting as his representative and the Admiral as a seeming fount of legal knowledge in reference to financial compensation. They both presented a solid case, addressing the legal loophole that Starfleet had used in denying Jim his pay and calling it archaic and outdated, pointing out that certain situations ought to be taken into account regarding discharge or special circumstances in which an officer leaves the fleet. From the faces around the meeting table, Spock was somewhat gratified to see some nods of agreement, but only time would tell as the financial and human resources departments consulted with one another on how to proceed. 

The Admiral pauses outside the conference building afterward, tipping his head up towards the sky and letting the rain bathe his flushed face, "God that was like pulling teeth in there." Rubbing a hand down over his face, he accepts the umbrella Spock holds aloft so they might both be protected beneath its shell, hunching his shoulders. "I think we made a good point, Spock. If this doesn't get Jim his pension back, I don't know what will."

"My secondary plan of action was to contact the local media," Spock says though he allows himself to look somewhat discomfited by this idea, arching a pragmatic brow, "though I do not think Jim would appreciate the exposure it would force Starfleet's hand in compensating him for his heroism." 

Admiral Pike snorts, "Damn right." He mutters, "but you're right, that does sound rather extreme and it could actually get you into a bit of hot water with the P.R. department. I'd rather not see you get your ass handed to you by a top brass with his panties in a bunch." 

"Indeed, Admiral." Spock concurs, pursing his lips. 

"Right," clapping his hand onto Spock's shoulder, Admiral Pike turns in the center square between the Officer's mess and staff offices, "well, I'll keep my ear to the ground and see how things look. How much longer will you be in San Francisco?" 

"I am leaving for Iowa at 0800 hours Wednesday." Spock replies. 

"Well, hell...I'll see if I can put a little more pressure on the issue. I'll keep in touch." With that, Admiral Pike departed, turning back in the direction of his office and leaving Spock to catch a cab off campus. He returns to his desolate apartment with a sour thought, surely his apartment only feels desolate because it is empty aside from himself. It is illogical to consider a place dismal because it does not contain a chipper human male or loud and excitable child in it. But his dismissal of the matter doesn’t make his apartment feel any more welcoming as he gathers up his duffel and retreats out the door again, heading for San Francisco's central transportation hub. His shuttle would be leaving in twenty minutes and he would not be late. 

 

"So Capt'n," Mr. Scott beams fondly with his hand resting idly on the outer casing of the warp engine, looking as pleased as a kitten with milk, "what do ye think?" 

"It would seem we are proceeding on schedule, Lieutenant." Spock responds, his eyes locked onto his PADD, his stylus scrolling over relevant information and specifications. 

"Aye," Mr. Scott grins, "with a fine, newly refitted set of bairns, we are." He pats the metal under his hand almost lovingly before straightening up, folding his arms across his chest. "And I saw ta those new specifications to the bridge ma'self, Capt'n. Everything should be just as ordered, sir." 

"Good work, Lieutenant," Spock says evenly, pausing only when he catches Mr. Scott's sparkling eyes a moment later, realizing that this conversation will not be ending on a professional note. It seems the Scotsman has other ideas. "Yes, Lieutenant?" 

"What's this I hear about Mr. Kirk hostin' a Thanksgiving feast?" 

"Not Mr. Kirk, I am hosting it, Lieutenant." Spock clarifies. 

The Scotsman blinks, confused, "You, sir? But Vulcans don't celebrate Thanksgivin', sir. Let alone in Iowa?" 

"Jim is unaware of the reunion I have scheduled to take place Thanksgiving Day." Spock warns, tucking his PADD under his arm. 

"Ooh, so it's a surprise then." Mr. Scott leans in, lowering his voice with a glance around at the other engineers working over the engines behind them, "and uh, the wee lad will be there?" 

"If you are referring to David Kirk, James' son, then yes," Spock inclines his head, "he will be in attendance." 

"Oh, aye...great, great." Mr. Scott nods, "I'll bring my latest batch, then." He says with a wink and a crooked grin, reacting in the same moment Spock does when there comes a clatter and a shout from behind them. Mr. Scott turns, raising his arms and shouting at Keenser sitting atop a support beam trying to lower some equipment from the upper level with a pulley system. "Oi! Get down!" 

Spock takes that as his cue to duck out of engineering, walking the mostly empty corridors of the ship and stepping into an open turbolift. "Deck five." He commands the ship's computer and settles in against the subtle shift of the lift transitioning up through the levels of the _Enterprise_. He had left his duffel bag on the small bunk in his quarters before surveying Mr. Scott's progress in repairs and he returned there now, dropping his PADD onto the comforter next to his bag and lifting his gaze towards the view-port across from him. The stars sparkle back at him, and the edge of Earth's rotating shape is just barely visible to him from this vantage point. 

Sliding his hands behind his back, he approaches the view-port and stares out, wondering to himself about Jim and David's current activities. It would be time for their evening meal no doubt, and imagining other alternatives seems unnecessary and rather fanciful of him. He reminds himself that it is illogical to miss the pair of them knowing full well that he'll be seeing them again in just a matter of hours, but he cannot help but remember the conversation he had engaged in with Jim before his departure. 

Would Jim turn his offer down of entering into a more serious relationship? The probability, in view of Jim's previous penchant for easy flings and meaningless physical encounters, seems rather high against his favor and Spock can't help but feel tipped a little off his axis. It would be logical for Jim to refuse his proposal, and if he did, Spock would not attempt to dissuade him otherwise. When Spock takes into consideration the poor timing of his proposition and the poor quality a long-distance relationship offers, he could easily see Jim rejecting the circumstances. But, Spock has seen stranger things happen with a worse statistical odds. If Jim accepts, Spock will have a whole other realm of problems to consider. 

While they would remain parted during the duration of Spock's Captaincy, Spock cannot see the logic in demanding James’ fidelity until his return. If Jim chooses to accept a deeper relationship with him, can he expect Jim to wait out the duration of their separation without the benefit of the physical and emotional support partners usually provide for one another? Humans are more emotional and more tactile than Vulcans and Spock doesn’t know if he has the right to ask Jim to constrain himself to such a stunted relationship, but a deep, feral part of him rebels at the thought of Jim fulfilling these needs elsewhere. Furthermore, due to the demands and responsibilities of a captain’s position Spock will not even be readily available for conversation much of the time; Jim would be aware of this from his own time in the same position. Spock can see no easily acceptable solutions to the issues of a lengthy separation, and he realizes that hypothesizing further may only serve to irritate him.

Turning towards his fresher, Spock begins to unbutton the jacket to his dress uniform, having worn it straight from the meeting to avoid wasting time changing before heading up to the _Enterprise_. He strips down and pushes his clothes through the laundry chute before stepping into his sonic shower, adjusting to the swiftness of the cycle compared to how long water showers seemed to take. While the sonics remove the grime of the day from his form Spock tips his head up towards the ceiling and continues to consider the ramifications of a relationship with Jim. 

Would Jim feel too great a loyalty towards Spock to consider the more logical outcome? A part of Spock agrees with that assessment as he remembers the fierce loyalty Jim held towards all his former crew members. To him, they had been family, important in many ways; and some important in ways that extended far beyond that of the professional association. Was it fair of Spock to have asked Jim to join with him at all? Perhaps he should have refrained, completing the rest of the mission and reuniting with James upon its conclusion and seeing where they stood then? But Spock had not wanted to take the chance that Jim would still be available at that point. 

A sliver of memory crops up in Spock's consciousness, supplying him with the many faces of pretty women, and a few men, who had pursued James throughout his short but renowned career in Starfleet. Would Jim remain single for David's benefit? Or had Jim simply not found anyone of interest up to this point? He had stated himself that upon retiring from Starfleet, he had found himself with very little free time, and that included very little time for courting or such other extracurricular activities. Having lived alongside Jim in the past few weeks, Spock could see Jim was telling the truth, his daily schedule was rather full. But there was no telling the future, and standing in a cool sonic shower wasn't doing him any good. There was no predicting Jim.

Burying his thoughts beneath a haze of other more important thoughts pertaining to ship's business, Spock dresses in his meditation robes, folding them warmly around himself and smoothing his hair down. He has just lit the incense before his small idol when a light rap sounds at the door. Standing up from his crouch, Spock orders the lights up and turning to bid his visitor to enter. "Come." He says, only to blink in surprise when Nyota Uhura slips through the door to his quarters. 

"Hey." She smiles, her eyes bright and warm as she approaches him, hesitating a little when she notices the curling tendrils of smoke from his incense pot. "Oh, were you meditating? I'm sorry, I can come back?" She offers, poking a thumb over her shoulder with a slight grimace. 

"I was about to, yes, but it can wait. When did you arrive?" The last he had spoken to her had been in a call while she had been in London visiting family. 

"Last night, actually, Scotty told me you were here, so I thought I'd come say hi. It's good to see you back. Scotty's been bragging to me and driving me nuts with all his excitement over the refit. It's not even a full overhaul, but he's acting like its Christmas." She snorts, rolling her eyes lightly. 

"Mr. Scott takes his work very seriously." Spock agrees; his eyes softening in pleasure at her company. 

"When are you going back to Iowa?" 

"Wednesday morning," Spock replies.

Nodding, Nyota suddenly breaks into a slow, devious smile, "I'm actually really excited to meet David. I can't even imagine what he's like. A little kid? Kirk's kid?" She bites her lower lip and shifts her weight to the other foot, reaching out to slide a hand down the smooth fabric of his sleeve. "You look good, so I guess you haven't frozen your ears off in Iowa. I hear it snows there like its Alaska." She chuckles. 

"It is very cold," Spock agrees with a nod, "but David enjoys the snow. He instructed me in how to build a segmented snow model he believed resembled me." 

"You built a snowman with David?" Nyota's brows shoot upward and before she can dissolve into soft laughter, Spock manages a sardonic look. "I mean a snow-Vulcan?" She chuckles, "that's so sweet, God..." Smiling, she turns and sits at his table and he joins her, leaning his arm against the table top. Reaching out across the table, she places her hand over his forearm over the sleeve of his robe. "Is he excited about Christmas?" 

"Jim is allowing the child to believe in the fictional character called Santa Claus." Spock says his voice somewhat dry, "I helped him transcribe a letter to him." 

Again, Nyota erupts into peels of musical laughter, pressing her hand over her mouth to try and quell them, seeming to not want to embarrass Spock. But Spock finds no embarrassment in a child's play. "Oh my God, you wrote a letter to Santa for him? You're so whipped." She snorts, grinning at him. 

"I know not to what you are referring." Spock says with a long look in her direction, but his brown eyes are dancing and he hates that he cannot suppress the emotions in them. 

"Oh please, you're so whipped. I could tell over the phone." She smirks, "David has you wrapped around his little finger, I think." She beams at him and Spock tilts his head in what might pass for a nod or a shrug to her, letting her interpret his actions as she will, after all she is his head communications officer. "But there's something else too," She frowns a fraction, leaning closer and propping her elbow on the table with her chin in her hand, studying him. Spock has begun to tire of the close scrutiny everyone seems to be placing him under lately and refrains from meeting her. 

"You know, we weren't expecting you would be staying in Iowa so long, that kid must have been something else to get you to stay." She comments after a long moment. She leans back in her seat with a somewhat sly expression on her face. "Unless it wasn't David who asked you to stay." 

"The child is five, he did not ask me to stay." Well, not in the beginning, though David was reluctant to let Spock leave for San Francisco. Spock was not being untruthful. 

"Jim has changed then." Nyota murmurs, watching Spock and tipping her head, angling it so their eyes align. "Something about him made you stay?" 

"He is different...with David. He has...changed, yes." He cannot think how to phrase his thoughts in such a way that will not make Jim sound like less than himself, but there is no doubt, Jim has toned down in the year he has been David's father. "He is more cautious," he ventures, squinting a little as if pulling words out of the ether, "And he has a greater capacity for compassion and empathy." 

"Well duh; a crying kid will do that to you pretty quick." Nyota smirks. "Oh my God," Her smirk widens, "you have a thing for him, don't you?" 

Spock immediately looks away, realizing too late that it's a telling move and sensing pleasure rippling from her very skin as she shifts in her seat, folding her arms over her chest.

"Can I just say...I called it? I should have put in with the bet..." She trails off with a huffing sigh.

Spock blinks, "You could not possibly have drawn any conclusions about Jim and me regarding our relationship. We are simply friends." 

"Friends?" Nyota objects, "well I can say about two months ago you wouldn't have even called him that. Professional colleagues would have been right, even though I could see that farm boy pining for you from a mile away." 

Spock grows very still, his head lifting to stare at his communication's officer quite frankly, and he is certain he must look shocked. Nyota blinks at him then laughs somewhat unsteadily, "What, you never noticed?" She asks with a small shrug, her amusement deflating, "I think he just picked fights with you because he didn't know how else to act around you. You don't come across as the most congenial person aboard this ship, you know. But you're Vulcan, that's expected." Her lips quirk in a small smile, "I don't think he even realized he was doing it, but he was acting sort of like a school boy picking on the girl he likes." 

Spock frowns, "A poor analogy." 

"Fine, okay." Nyota leans forward, placing her hands flat on the table, her gold earrings swaying slightly with her movements, "you know how you two would always argue about regulations, especially when it came to landing parties? Well, not only does Jim really love being in the middle of the action because he's a big attention whore?" She smirks, teasing the man who can't even defend himself because he's millions of miles away. "But he also likes goading you, he gets off on it, he likes seeing you ruffled in conversation, it's like winning a point or something to him. I used to think it was because he was a control freak, but then I figured out it was because he's got a bit of a thing for you." 

Thinking back to the year he had spent under Jim's command, Spock can't enumerate the exasperating conversations he had had with his captain. But besides that Jim had been a good Captain and a good companion to pass the time with. Their chess matches had been stimulating, to say the least, and Spock had found himself drawn to the man's intelligence. But it had always been what he had interpreted as Jim's stand-offish behavior that had given Spock pause. If he had known of this behavior Nyota was outlining for him now, would Spock have confronted his Captain about those arguments in disguise? Would it have even mattered or changed Jim's behavior? Perhaps Jim had needed this change in the course of his life to become the man Spock was now faced with. Or...had Jim always been this man, and the person he presented himself to be simply a persona? Perhaps Spock was not the only one who wore a mask in public. 

"Spock?" Nyota's voice cuts through his ruminations and he shifts in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable with the topic under discussion. 

"Am I to assume your presence here means you are attending our Thanksgiving celebration?" Spock asks. 

Nyota frowns, but doesn't pursue their previous conversation, letting Spock steer them into clearer waters, "Um yeah, I'll be there of course, wouldn't miss it. Though, I am rather curious what you're going to eat. Thanksgiving is primarily about a turkey dinner." She snorts. 

"I will manage, though James is under the impression we will be eating Thai take out for Thanksgiving." Spock explains, making Nyota grin. 

"Well, he's going to get a shock then when we all show up pot-luck style." 

 

Spock spends that night on the ship, lying in a bed he cannot help but think used to support Jim's resting form when he had been the _Enterprise_ 's Captain. Naturally, the sheets are different, but the rest is the same and the layout of the room is exactly as Jim had left it, save for Spock's few possessions adorning the space.

A part of him is still restless, disquieted by his earlier thoughts that and then further by Nyota's puzzling revelation. He wonders if he and Jim had been wasting time prevaricating around one another. Could they have entered into a relationship earlier? Spock tries not to think about how that would have changed the course of their lives or their relationship, especially once the variable of David had been added. Would Spock have left Starfleet with Jim if he had asked? He cannot imagine Jim doing so, but perhaps the situation would have accommodated it. 

Spock considers his ceiling, lit by the dim light of Earth outside his view-port for a while longer, eventually finding some rest as he realizes it is illogical to dwell on the past or what might have been done. 

The next morning, Spock rises and gathers his things, stopping in Engineering to relay a few orders to Mr. Scott before heading for the transporter room with the Lieutenant. "I'll see ye in a few days, Capt'n," Mr. Scott intones as Spock steps up onto the transporter platform, his duffel over his shoulder. 

"Indeed, Lieutenant Scott." The familiar hold of the transporting beam immobilizes him a moment later and he feels his particles shift, a feeling Dr. McCoy had always equated with insects buzzing in his stomach. It is an odd and highly improbable comparison. 

Rather than beam him directly to his apartment, Spock has Scotty put him down in the transportation center, where he soon finds himself on the sidewalk outside in the rain. Instead of hailing a cab, Spock walks the distance to a subterranean train station, his open umbrella keeping most of him dry. 

Once on the train he checks his messages, finding one from Admiral Pike. He gets off the train and takes the stairs up to ground level, He steps under an awning outside a shop and presses his comm to his ear, covering the other with his hand to block out the roar of the rain. 

Admiral Pike's voice filters out of the device, slightly tinny and electronic, "Mr. Spock, I've been throwing a little of my weight around into the brass down here. I mentioned your threat about going to the media. Nogura about pissed his pants I think," he chuckles, and the imagery causes Spock's brow to arch high on his forehead, "I'd be surprised if you didn't get a formal call or something by today. If you don't, call me. If they don't give Jim his pension by Christmas, I’ll make sure there will be hell to pay." The message ends without a goodbye and Spock straightens up, buffeted by a slight wind that pushes rain under the awning, dotting dark spots of moisture onto his uniform. 

"Fascinating..." Spock whispers, staring down at his comm. It would seem his next order of business had solved itself. He now has no need to return to Starfleet headquarters to check in with the Admiral, and returning to his empty apartment sounds less than appealing, even if it would be dry and warm. 

Looking around, Spock realizes he's in one of San Francisco's shopping districts; his keen eyes reading all the signs within view. There are clothing shops, antiques, odds and ends, book stores, and even a toy shop. Pike's mention of Christmas has Spock remembering the date in December and counting in his head, realizing he has free time and the funds to purchase both Jim and David something they might deem appropriate for the holiday. Never one to be frivolous, Spock considers what would be useful to Jim and realizes that maybe he ought to shop via the net for his companion. Rather than returning to his apartment to do so now, however, Spock turns and crosses the street to a nearby toy store. 

It is warm inside the store and Spock folds his umbrella up, shaking it lightly onto the entry rug as he looks around. The store is dimly lit but inviting, shelves lining the walls full of items meant to appeal to children. There is an electrical train set motoring around its tracks on a shelf high up on the walls of the shop and in the far corner, up by the ceiling, Spock notes a plethora of over-sized, overstuffed animals all squished onto shelves for sale. There are tigers and leopards and polar bears along with other Terran mammals and aquatic creatures. Spock finds their size a little illogical. What would a child do with a life-sized stuffed grizzly bear? Ride it? 

He wanders around the aisles for a short time, perusing some of the more educational toys and realizing that those designed for David's age group are a little too childish. David doesn't seem to enjoy the typical toys for his age group and so Spock selects a model from those indicated for the age group above him, turning the box over to regard the back. It appears to be a scaled model of the NCC-1701 U.S.S. _Enterprise_ and Spock pores over the specifications for a short time, impressed with the model’s detail.

With all the tiny pieces, however, Spock determines that the model would not be a good toy for David, at least not for the purpose of constructing it. He buys it anyway, and, standing at the counter while the woman wraps his gift for him, he notices a shelf behind her holding smaller plush toys. Not only are they smaller and more manageable, but not all of them are Terran mammals. Stepping away from the counter, Spock picks up a stuffed le-matya and a stuffed sehlat, regarding them with an illogical swell of fondness. He had had a real sehlat for a pet as a child, although without proper training they could be dangerous. A stuffed one would have to do in deference to David's age and development, so he sets the le-matya back on the shelf and buys the sehlat, ignoring the adoring look the female clerk swung his way at the addition to his purchase. 

"Are you Christmas shopping for your kid?" She asks and because it is a direct question, Spock can't ignore her personal query without being rude. 

"For a friend's child, to be precise," Spock informs her. 

"Oh, that's sweet. A boy?" She asks, indicating the wrapped model set while placing the stuffed sehlat into a box for wrapping. 

"Indeed. He is five years of age." 

"Oh...well, um." Her brows furrow slightly, "that model might be kind of hard for a five year old." 

Spock bristles, an illogical reaction he cannot quell. This woman knows nothing about David, what grounds could she possibly have to judge his aptitude? "He is very intelligent for his age." Spock informs her, stamping out the annoyance that tries to creep into his tone. He clearly must meditate before turning to Iowa; it wouldn't do to let these emotional responses surface so easily. 

"Oh! No, I'm sure he is, it's just-" The woman bites her lip and hands him his receipt. "You know what, never mind." She shrugs and plasters on a smile, "kids love building stuff. I'm sure he'll love it." 

Spock gathers his purchases, tucking them under his arms, "Thank you." He leaves her there staring after him. He still has an hour before he's due to leave for the transportation center again, so he returns to his apartment to wash the mug and some of the dishes he had used Monday evening and as an afterthought, he unwraps the model of the _Enterprise_ and breaks the seal on the box. He spends the next fifty minutes building the model, gluing it together and only glancing at the instructions. He is familiar with the ship's structure of course, so building it is no great feat as he glues it to its stand which holds it aloft. He hesitates, wondering what he might do with it now that it will no longer fit in the box, eventually placing it in his duffel bag with some measure of care so as not to damage the nacelles protruding from the lower hull.

Satisfied, he allows the corner of his mouth to tick up into a small smile, gazing at the little model ship in his bag before zipping it closed. David should have a piece of his father's history and pride, as well as access to his very own ship full of adventure and possibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm not dead!  
> Just one more chapter guys; the epilogue. Then we'll be moving onto Part 2 of our boys' adventures. Thanks for reading and leaving your wonderful reviews, they're so inspiring. <3


	20. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We move into the future about a year to see just how Jim and David are faring and what the future may hold for them in the continued sequel to Unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *If you've gotten this far in the story, you may have missed the **art** I posted in Chapter 3 as an added update! Check it out, if you would like, and get a glimpse as how I picture David.

"Dad, wake up!" Someone shoves at Jim's shoulder where he's fallen asleep on the sofa before the flickering television set. 

"Mnhm..." Jim groans, reaching up and wiping a hand down over his face in a silent plea that his son might leave him be so he might continue catching a few moments more of shut eye before he's expected to be a responsible adult again.

"Dad, you're going to make me late for karate. C'mon, let's go!" David urges him, mocking a punch into his father's bicep which Jim had thrown across his face in an effort to block him out. 

"I know, I know." Jim mumbles, sitting up with a grunt and bracing his arms against his propped up knees. He hangs his head down between his shoulders for a moment, blinking rapidly to chase the grogginess out of his system. Sniffing, he wipes the heel of his hand across his eyes and glances over at David standing resolutely beside the sofa, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "You're not even dressed yet, kid." Jim grumbles, reaching out to push at David's shoulder, encouraging him to go back upstairs. "Go put your gear on first and then we'll go." 

David's running feet slap across the wood floor, his steps pounding up the stairs. In the following moment of peace, Jim allows himself some reflection and gathers himself together again. He had been dreaming rather vividly about the way he wished things could have been. Of course, he abstains from wishful thinking in the waking world, but his subconscious always seemed to get the better of him in sleep and cobbled together these painful dreams that Jim almost always classified as nightmares. They always had the same ongoing theme: Spock. 

Groaning again, Jim scrubs his palms over his cheeks and spiders his fingers back through his hair, brushing it into some semblance of order and swinging his legs over the edge of the sofa. He braces his hands on the cushions and leans forward, snatching up the remote from the coffee table and depressing the volume. Squinting at the television set, he watches a now-muted reporter list the details of an attack in the Middle East. The story is old news and Jim has already recalled all the details he has read from various news feeds and articles. Jim could almost wish that this news was coming from a Federation planet nearby, and then he could hope that Starfleet would be involved and the _Enterprise_ might be called upon to handle diplomatic duties. But the chances that such a problem would lead to Spock and the _Enterprise_ crew coming home for a short while were very slim. The Middle East has always been in the midst of unrest, since prehistoric times almost, even after the late Persian reformation. His illogical pining for one man wasn't going to change that. 

Sighing, he shuts the television off and chucks the remote behind him. His opinion of the situation in the Middle East really has no bearing however, for what does a ship-builder like him have to worry about firefights and war-zones? All he has to worry about is building ships strong enough to withstand space and the conflicts out there in the big black. 

A year and two months have passed since Spock's departure for the _Enterprise_ and Jim can still see him in his mind's eye like he had left only yesterday. Sometimes it's distracting, but on occasion it is also a comfort, for it means these three years seems to be passing quickly. Other parents weren't lying when they said their kids grew up in a flash, because already David was about to turn seven and Jim was left still thinking his son was a toddler. However, ten minutes watching his son performing various karate moves under his instructor's guidance was enough to cure Jim momentarily of his impaired vision. 

It had taken Jim only a week consider Spock's parting words about contacting Starfleet's Human Resources department. He had turned that paper contact card over and over in his fingers day in and day out until the thing had grown worn and dirty, nearly causing the contact numbers on it to smudge off. But he had called and been transferred through to a division head, setting up an appointment in Des Moines later that week to discuss his qualifications.

In the end, he had chosen to go the more logical and safe route, placing himself in a position to remain in Riverside so as not to uproot David again unnecessarily. He lived close enough to one of the big shipyards owned by Starfleet and that was how he had ended up working for Starfleet again. His new career had Jim taking charge of the Engineering division overseeing building the newest Starship funded by Starfleet. It was to be christened the _Excelsior_ and Jim had been working on her lower hull for six weeks. Her engine components were being shipped from Eastern Asia and by June, he would be overseeing the more intricate task of wiring routes from her core systems.

Spock had been pleased to hear of Jim's job change, especially since it meant Jim was able to be home the majority of the time David was; no longer needing Mrs. Harper to babysit him in the evenings. In a way, Jim felt like he had gotten his feet back under him again. In the year and a half he had been off the _Enterprise_ and struggling to make ends meet, he had grown steadily more lost as he buried himself in credit debt and partially alienated himself from David through his absence at work. Now that they had more time to spend together, David had blossomed under Jim's care, excelling in his classes and making more friends once he joined the little league soccer team at his school. Jim would divide his time between work, David, and attending David's soccer and karate matches, which left little time for anything else. 

"Okay, I'm ready!" David yells from the foyer, yanking the closet door open and tugging his light coat off the hanger, shoving his arms through it and jamming his feet into his sneakers by the front door. 

Jim gets to his feet with a soft sigh and pulls his shirt straight, an old habit he had acquired again while wearing a Starfleet engineering uniform. "Alright kiddo, did you get your water bottle from the fridge?" 

"No." David blinks up at him, hair a wild mess. 

"We need to get you a haircut again, bud." Jim mutters on his way into the kitchen, yanking the fridge open and snagging a water bottle. He returns and hands it off to David while dragging his hoodie out of the closet, tugging it on over his head and sliding his feet into some sandals. He makes sure he has his keys and his communicator before opening the front door, letting in a late April breeze. He pauses on the porch however, the key in the lock as he turns to David and asks, "Did you feed Snowy?" 

"Um," David's brows scrunch together, and then he nods sharply, "yes, I did!" 

Locking up, they walk to the car, David a mass of energy bounding towards the rear passenger door. Jim is glad David agreed to these evening karate classes, it got a lot of his overabundance of energy out before bed time and Jim couldn't complain about that. 

"Hello James, where is your destination?" The deep baritone voice of the sedan A.I. greets them as Jim slides into the driver's side seat and David quips from the back: 

"Hi Mr. Spock!" He grins at Jim in the rear-view mirror as he buckles himself into his seat belt. 

"I'll freestyle today, Mr. Spock." Jim says with a half- cocked smile, turning the navigation system off and backing them down the drive way. On their way to the Riverside Recreational Center, David broaches a topic that has become familiar to Jim since they have passed the first anniversary of Spock's departure from Earth. 

"Dad, what do you think Mr. Spock is doing right now?" David asks softly, staring out at the darkening sky from his window. 

"Well," Jim squints at the timepiece on his dashboard, making a few calculations. "It’s probably Alpha shift right now, which means its morning for all the crew right about now." 

"So Mr. Spock is on duty?" David queries. 

"Most likely. So he's sitting in the center seat right now, signing reports and taking care of ship's business." Jim says with a soft smile at his son in the rear-view mirror while they're stopped at a stop sign. 

"What if he's fighting Romulans?" David asks excitedly, miming the action of firing guns with his fingers, mimicking the sound of explosions with his mouth. 

"Probably not at the moment, given the fact that we're trying, again...to sign a peace treaty with them." Jim turns off the road and into the Rec Center's parking lot. "It's actually possible that Spock is in attendance at that meeting, as a diplomat and as our ambassador's transport." 

"What's a... dip-lo-mat?" David asks, returning the word slowly as he feels it out. 

"Someone who oversees political meetings," Jim explains. 

"So he's trying to make the Romulans play nice?" 

"Exactly," Jim says with a grin, parking and turning off the car. "Ready to punch some gloves, son?" 

"Yeah!" David bellows from the backseat, unsnapping his seat belt and shoving the door open to scramble out of the car. Jim follows at a slower pace, pausing to hold the door open for David. 

They pass the public pool on their way down a long hall, passing both a bathroom and an exercise room before they get to the wide open room with padded mats being used for David's karate class. Other parents and kids are already there and the instructor is playing with his music device in the corner while parents chat with one another amiably. 

"Dad?" David whirls around in the doorway to his class, bringing Jim up short. 

"Wh-what, David, what is it?" Jim blinks in surprise, studying the suddenly intense look on his son's face. 

"Can we try calling Mr. Spock tonight again?" 

Jim purses his lips, his shoulders lowering a little as a weight of guilt settles over him again. They had been trying to call Spock for over a week without any reply and Jim hadn't allowed himself to get worried about it. Spock was busy and sub-space transmissions were not only expensive, but not always accurate or strong. On the infrequent occasions that Spock could get through, the calls were patchy at best, but David always liked to try anyway and Jim couldn't discourage him from it. "Sure buddy, when we get home, okay?" 

The vivid light returns to David's eyes at Jim's agreement and he whips around, charging into the room enthusiastically for his class and Jim watches him go, momentarily stunned. In the time that they had been separated from Spock, David hadn't tired of asking about the Vulcan, nor had he been angry or overly upset once the initial sadness had subsided. He had suffered some terrible nightmares the first two weeks after Spock had left, but a message cube from the Vulcan had cured those easily enough. It seemed that as long as David knew Spock was out there and thinking about him, he slept a little better. Jim did too. 

Watching his son line up with all the other kids in the class, Jim keeps to himself as he leans up against the glass windowed walls near the entrance, his arms folded over his chest and his stance leisurely. The other parents had tried approaching him a few times, but Jim hadn't found any common ground other than the topic of their kids to discuss. In truth, Jim didn't need the friends, they were mostly women and a few were single and had given him a rather speculative eye the first time he had come to the class with David. Not that a few of them weren't attractive, but Jim hadn't felt any reason to befriend them. Not only would it confuse the hell out of David, but it would give them the wrong impression, and Jim was in no need of a partner. It just so happened he had one, just one who happened to be...many light-years away. It was almost laughable, and Jim did laugh about it sometimes, but it didn't make their relationship any less real. 

Every two and a half months, he and David would receive message cubes from Spock. They usually arrived in abundance and out of order, recorded and sent whenever Spock passed through a sector of Federation space where he could drop off his personal communications at a space station or Federation planet. The mail was a long time coming, to say the least, and Jim wouldn't be surprised if he and David were still receiving messages from Spock even after the Vulcan's five year mission was over. Most of the messages were addressed to David and Spock would record himself reading excerpts from articles that might interest David, which most of them did; and various other passages from books and biographies. He was slowly turning David into an even bigger bookworm and the child's personal library had grown exponentially since Spock had left. 

The other cubes were usually meant for Jim and he would listen to them privately, typically after David had gone to bed every night, watching Spock appear on the holo-projections and awkwardly go through whatever one-sided conversation he could manage. Because the transmission beams for subspace calls were so weak, calls Jim placed to the _Enterprise_ were often dropped or didn't reach Spock at all, so the Vulcan had taken to recording these message cubes instead, and Jim would reply via cubes he wasn't even positive reached Spock all the time.

Spock would usually wind through recent events, telling Jim things that weren't considered classified or talking about their friends amongst the bridge crew. Then he would move on to speculating about Jim and David's lives, always checking the time and making a rather accurate hypothesis about what David and Jim were likely doing at that very moment. It seemed Jim and David didn't often deviate from the same routines and Spock had grown accustomed to them during his three month stay. 

It was rare that Jim would glimpse any emotion in Spock over the message cubes meant for him, nor did Spock wax poetic about them or his feelings about their separation. Jim didn't need excessive reminders of what he knew Spock felt, the simple 'I miss you both' was enough for him to understand that Spock did miss them, and rather profoundly if he could easily admit to it. But knowing Spock missed them wasn't something he liked to dwell on, because it wasn't a comfort; nothing could be done about it. He would smile and murmur to himself, "Only two more years, Spock," or however long it was until he and the Vulcan would be reunited again. 

On rare occasions Jim would get a message cube from his friends aboard the _Enterprise_ , all of them squished into the viewing field like they were taking a class photo. Bones always looked uncomfortable, muttering about having more important things to do, like saving lives. Uhura would always start the conversation, always asking about David and telling him she had some other little trinket for him for when she saw him next. Scotty would always tell Jim about the ship and how she was running and what (mostly illegal) upgrades he was putting into the old engines every chance he got. Sulu and Chekov would tell David about whatever comics they had recently read in their spare time, or demonstrate a karate move David should try to learn now that they all knew the child was taking classes. It was during these messages that Jim would miss his old life the most, reaching out to ruffle David's hair and seeing his excited grin and knowing that he had made the right choice...now that had never changed. 

"Hi-ya! Ya!" The enthusiastic grunts and shouts from the children moving through their basic moves shakes Jim out of his thoughts, as well as the incessant vibrating from his inner coat pocket. He straightens up and drags his communicator out, squinting down at the screen and scratching his cheek as he ducks out into the hall. Frowning, he re-reads the incoming caller ID on his screen. 

He should have known this day was coming; it was actually surprising that it had taken Pike this long to get in touch with him or at least attempt to again, that is. But should he take the call? It wasn't like he had any reason not to, Jim was fairly certain that the rumor mill had broadcast David’s existence around Starfleet. Not only had he given David a tour of the _Excelsior_ in her dry hanger, but there was no doubt in Jim's mind that Spock had been required to report on Jim's reasons for resignation. Spock had admitted that Pike had asked him to make a visit to Jim, and it was no wonder, because the Admiral had been blowing up his phone for months that first year after Jim had quit Starfleet. 

"Kirk, here," Jim says stiffly as he opens the channel to Pike, holding the device to his ear and turning around. He curls his other arm over his middle and props his hand under the opposite elbow, staring in at the kids leaping and jumping and punching clumsily at the air. 

"Mr. Kirk!" Pike's boisterous voice seems a little surprised, and why wouldn't it be? Considering Jim had been giving him the metaphorical cold shoulder for over two years now. "How are you?" 

"I'm...good, really good. What's up?" Jim asks casually, wondering if this was a social or professional call. He quickly knows which when Pike launches into an explanation. 

"Oh, well I saw that you applied for a position in the construction unit out there in Iowa. I was wondering how that was working out for you. Are you enjoying it?" Pike asks and Jim can hear the shuffle of papers on the other line; Pike was still in the office then, probably working long hours. 

"Yeah, I am. It's good to be back on a starship, even in a small capacity. She's a real catch too, Admiral. You wouldn't believe the specs on her. She's only half way there but already looking like a fine piece of work." Jim rakes a hand back through his hair, smirking a little to himself when David is the first to volunteer for hand-to-hand practice. The instructor picks up padded focus mitts and dons them, crouching down and holding his hands out so David can take his instruction and start throwing punches with straight arms out from his defense position. 

"That's good, I've seen a few reports about the _Excelsior_ come across my desk, she'll need a good captain to handle all that increased capability." 

Jim doesn't miss the open ended offer, but he doesn't take the bait, "So what's the social call for, Pike?" Sometimes it pays to be direct. 

Pike pauses, and then carefully broaches a topic he must know might cause Jim some consternation, "I was wondering if you might be interested in taking up a job here, in San Francisco." 

Jim blinks, a tremor of shock moving through him. "What kind of job?" He finally questions after clearing his throat, swallowing past a sudden dryness. 

"A special job, the only one of its kind actually. With your experience and current position, I was thinking this might be right up your alley, Jim." Pike drops the modicum of formality he was trying to keep, speaking to Jim in a friendly manner in an effort to win his trust and confidence. "It's a job with Starfleet's Special Projects division. You would be running jobs similar to what you're doing now, but on a higher level. We need people with your kind of talent and engineering skills to lead a team in outfitting our ships for the needs of certain officers. As you know, we've had over seventeen new species join the Federation in the past two years and some of them need special accommodations before they can serve aboard our ships, Jim." 

A Special Projects job? Jim loses interest in the karate proceedings, turning away and staring at the floor as his mind spins with the possibilities of taking a job like this. "So, I would be designing as well as building special refits into our current and new starships?" 

"Yes, as well as our medical, science, and emergency transports. There is already a back-list of jobs needing to be filled and refit ideas needing to be drawn up, Jim. This could really be the perfect niche for you here." Pike offers, "and the starting pay is better than any petty officer and probably more than double what you're making now Jim, pension included." 

The pay is very low on Jim's list of needs in considering a new career path and he blinks, shaken out of his whirling thoughts. He slides a hand down over his face and tips his head back, staring up at the ceiling, "That sounds really fucking amazing, if you don't mind me saying, sir." Jim mutters with a slow smile, "What made you wait so long?" He chuckles. 

"Well, I wasn't even certain you would take Mr. Spock up on his suggestions of joining up with Starfleet again. I was kind of waiting to see what move you would make first, Jim. Now that you've gotten your sea-legs back, I heard you've been doing some good work out there in Iowa." Pike says; a smirk evident in his tone.

"Oh, I see...so you sent the Vulcan to hound me after all, huh?" Jim snorts. "Un-frickin'-believable." 

"Well, yeah. But I didn't expect him to spend his entire shore leave with you. That was all his decision. But hey, the job is open and waiting for you if you decide to take it. But I'll need to know by the end of the week Jim. Think it over; take some time to weigh your options." Pike offers, "It's good to finally hear from you Jim, it really is." 

Jim swallows, licking his dry lips and leaning his shoulders up against the glass windows again. "Yeah," he murmurs, his tone light and soft, "good to hear from you too. I'll call you, okay?" 

"You'd better. I've been a shunned long enough, Jim. Don't make me come out there, because I will." Pike says, but the threat is light and very nearly empty of all threat, causing Jim to smile. 

"Yeah, alright, later," He ends the call and stares at his communicator for a while before pocketing it, a measure of shaky disbelief still making his whole body feel jittery. Folding his arms over his chest, he wanders back into the classroom and watches his son take turns kicking at the padded shields the instructor holds for the kids. By the time the class ends, Jim has had roughly thirty minutes to consider Pike's offer. 

David runs up to Jim, feet slapping on the mats and hair plastered with sweat against his forehead. Jim smiles down at him and swipes his hand over David's forehead, pushing his wild bangs back and out of the way. "Want your water?" Jim asks, to which David nods emphatically.

"Were you watching Dad?" David asks; eyes bright and face flushed from exertion. 

"I was. You did really good. You should work on your left handed strikes a little more, but you've got the kicking down and a mean right hook." Jim grins, holding his hand down and taking one of David's punches in the palm; curling his fingers down over his child's fist and tugging him forward and up into a one-armed hug. David puts his shoes back on a moment later and hands Jim his half- drunk bottle of water.

"C'mon kid, let's get you home and in a bath." He chuckles, David squirming as he tucks his son up under his arm, carrying him around the middle. 

"Gaaah!" David howls in mock indignation, flailing his arms and legs all the way down the hall of the Recreation Center. Jim sets him down once they get outside and David goes tearing off towards the car, only to be stopped by Jim's preempting words. 

"Hey, come back here a minute, I want to talk to you." Jim slides down into a crouch and leans his lower back up against one of the cement pillars of the building. David wanders back, suddenly looking unsure and wary as he lets Jim take his hands in his, tipping his chin down and shifting his weight around on his feet anxiously. 

"What do you want to talk about?" David asks, his lower lip protruding a little, as if he can sense that this might be a conversation he might not like; as if Jim might be about to punish him. 

"Hey, c'mon, it's not like that. I got a call from Admiral Pike," Jim begins, knowing David will recognize the name seeing as how Jim had told him the story about the bar fight that had led to Pike badgering him to get into Starfleet rather than piss his life away. "He has a new, special job for me." 

"Doing what?" David asks, some of the earlier wariness melting from his face and shoulders as he straightens up, swinging his and Jim's joined hands a little erratically until Jim slides his grip up to his son's elbows, effectively stilling his fidgety nature.

"The job involves building special quarters and units in ships for new species to the Federation who will need non-standard living environments." Jim explains, waving a hand lightly in dismissal when David gives him a quizzical look. "I'll explain it better later; maybe when you're a little older you'll get it better. But basically...I'm asking you how you might feel about moving back to San Francisco." 

David blinks down at him, his brows slowly rising, "Like, leave Iowa?" 

"Yeah, we would live in San Francisco, you and I. In a house, hopefully," Jim explains. 

David bites his lower lip, then asks in a slightly distressed tone, "But how will Mr. Spock know where to find us?" 

"Oh David," Jim chuckles, standing up and ruffling his son's hair affectionately, dragging David forward to rest against his stomach, the child's arms moving around him in a loose embrace, "We'll tell Spock, of course." 

"Will he live with us in San Francisco too?" 

Jim hesitates, because he and Spock hadn't ever really discussed how living situations would go once he returned from the deep black. Pursing his lips, he doesn't see why they wouldn't live together, so he says, "Sure, if we can find a house close enough to the city, Spock will live with us too." 

David looks up, beaming, "Not an apartment, like before?" 

"No, not an apartment. You and I don't fit in those small living divisions and I like some yard. We'll look at houses near the outskirts of the city, see what we can find." 

"When are we going?" David asks, rocking forward on his toes and clutching at the front of Jim's shirt with his fists, forcing Jim into a slight hunch until he can extract his son's grip from his clothes. 

"Well, I have to call Admiral Pike back and take the job first." He laughs, detaching his son and dragging him up into a proper standing position, pulling his keys from his pocket and unlocking their car, "So I take it that's a yes?" 

"'Yes', what?" David asks, casting a look over his shoulder back at his father on their way to the car. 

"To moving to San Francisco?" Jim prompts with a crooked smile and raised brows.

"Yes! I wanna go back to San Francisco, Dad!" David grins, flashing Jim the view of his missing left incisor. 

Chuckling, Jim slides into the driver's seat, pressing the ignition button to start the car. The A.I. cycles through its normal greeting, "Hello James, where is your destination?" 

David pipes up from the back seat, "San Francisco, Mr. Spock!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, we've made it! This is entirely amazing, because this fiction was my very first entirely written and finished by me. I have so many people to thank! Thank you to Mon on, MissBAMF, lady_chibineko, nml, arrowinthesky (restfulsky5), jayleno827, and many others for their lovely and continuous support and feedback on my fic as it was being written. I could not have done it without all your guys' loving comments and love for this story. It's meant a lot to me that we could take this journey together with Jim, Spock, and precious David. 
> 
> A special thanks goes out to NWKate for her lovely beta reading skills and her constant praise and support. I've grown especially close to her and a few other lovely readers/authors during the construction of this fiction and I've been truly blessed for the experience. 
> 
> I do intend to draw an image of David during the next few weeks I go on hiatus before starting part two to this fiction, so keep a look out for that, I intend to figure out how to post it to the fic for all of you guys to see. I hope to see you all back again when I post the first chapter of Unexpected Part Two, and I'm honestly glad to have been able to share some of my holiday cheer and lovely (somewhat angst-filled) feels with you all. 
> 
> If any of you would like to follow me on tumblr, my handle is cuddlesjohn. My email is also open to you, at madkatter1000@gmail.com. Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year!


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